


Belief is a Terrible Thing to Waste

by AyeRay



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Abusive Parents, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Antisemitism, Anxiety Attacks, Blow Jobs, Bottom Eddie Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time, Fix-It of Sorts, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hand Jobs, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, M/M, Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Racism, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Rimming, Top Richie Tozier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:21:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 59,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24845212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AyeRay/pseuds/AyeRay
Summary: There was a time when Eddie was afraid of the thing he wanted most.He feared Richie. He feared the way his eyes lingered on him for too long, the way his hands felt when he reached out- fingers curling around Eddie's bare calf- to steady them as they swayed in the hammock. He feared the way his body leaned too heavily into Richie during movie night, desperate to feel the heat of his body. He feared loving him; feared what the world would think of two boys falling in love.He told himself he would no longer let fear get in the way of what he wanted most.And Eddie wanted Richie. He wanted him in every way possible. Near him, on him, inside him. He wanted to love Richie openly, the burning desire to be Richie's one and only scorching hot in the center of his chest.Eddie would have to be the most unafraid he had ever been in his life in order to get what he wanted.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Comments: 38
Kudos: 188





	1. pomme d'orange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie tilted his head down- because Richie was still slightly taller than him even sitting down- and pressed his lips to Richie’s, close and desperate. Richie opened his mouth, his breath ghosting over Eddie’s top lip. Richie’s mouth moved against his until Eddie felt consumed entirely by Richie. He was nipping and sucking at Eddie’s lower lip until a desperate sound escaped the back of his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: brief mention of child abuse, sexual content, and minor panic attack

Eddie’s thoughts were riding a fine line between curiosity and boredom. Curiosity could produce well-crafted questions but boredom usually gave way to stupidity and _rarely_ gave way to surprising insight.

He stared down at the orange in his hand, thumbing over the porous surface before digging his nail in and slicing open the rind; citrusy juice spraying into the air.

“Hey Rich?” he asked, turning around, his thumb caught between his lips so he could lick up some of the juice, a blend of sugar and acid on his taste buds. “What do you think came first? The color orange or the fruit orange?”

Richie was hunched over his laptop, fingers flying aggressively over the keys. Eddie was surprised none of them had snapped beneath his fingers. When his fingers traced over the keys like that it was most likely him replying to one of his _cumdumpster editors_. Richie’s words, not Eddie’s.

His brows were pinched together, his wiry glasses tittering on the edge of his nose. His tongue was caught between his teeth and Eddie’s heart soured at how heartwarmingly familiar it was. Though his posture was definitely giving Eddie scoliosis just by looking at him.

Eddie dipped his finger into the fibrous inner layer of the orange. He leaned over the high bar and flicked the juice at Richie. Richie stopped hounding away on his keyboard. He looked up, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his middle finger.

The orange juice was dripping down the frame of his glasses. He folded his hands under his chin and smiled lovingly at Eddie.

"Yes, Edward Dear?"

Heat spread across Eddie’s face. Even after all these years, being able to hold Richie’s attention felt like stripping naked in the middle of the grocery store. He felt vulnerable and _seen_. It wasn’t a bad type of vulnerability. It was like he had cracked himself open, ushering Richie inside the deepest most unknown parts of himself so they could nestle there together, away from the rest of the world. It made his chest feel tight, love and admiration unfurling inside his diaphragm.

Eddie couldn’t keep the smile on his face from fluttering to life. “Were you listening to me?” he asked, not at all mad but instead playful.

Eddie sucked some of the juice from the pad of his thumb and watched Richie’s eyes track his movements.

“Uh,” he sounded dumbfounded for a moment and then his eyes went round with recollection. “Yeah, I was totally listening.”

He goes back to typing vigorously.

“I think it’s Persian. The fruit itself originated from Asia and their agricultural practices were _revolutionary_ so it was probably the fruit that had to have come first, I think. Yeah, no, it was _totally_ the fruit that came first. And then the color was one hundred percent invented by the French- _pomme d'orange_. We literally went to a store in France named that, wow that’s crazy. Do you remember that? That was- why are you looking at me like that?”

Eddie didn’t realize he was staring in awe until he had to force his mouth closed.

“You totally just looked that up,” Eddie accused.

Richie actually looked offended.

“Scouts honor Mr. K,” he swore in a foolish voice. He put his hand over his heart and everything. “Why do you think my head is so big, Eds. It’s filled with useless facts.”

Eddie abandoned his orange and darted around the bar, shoving himself against Richie’s side to get a look at his computer screen. Sure enough, his screen was open on an email, the cursor waving at him mockingly.

“Did you think I was lying? Eds, I said Scout's honor. Breaking that would surely damn my soul to hell for all eternity.”

“Why are you _so_ smart?” Eddie asked. It wasn’t said with malicious intent. Richie knew Eddie found his bizarrely purposeless facts intriguing.

“Some people just bring out the genius in me,” Richie said, smirking.

“Oh yeah?” Eddie challenged, leaning heavily into Richie.

Richie poked him in the side, just to watch Eddie squirm. It was always like that with them. Tug and pull until they snapped back together.

Somehow he ended up scooped into Richie’s arms, the sharp corners of the island pressed against the knobs on his spine with his knees hooked under one of Richie’s strong arms. Richie's other arm forced him against his chest. He blew raspberries into his neck until Eddie was pulling away with childlike laughter. The hand around Eddie’s shoulder reached up to twirl his fingers around some of the strands of hair falling into Eddie’s face. Richie hated when he gelled back his hair, so whenever possible he made sure to let it remain untamed; a lion's mane of chocolate locks.

Richie was staring at him, his large magnified eyes mellow and sweet. Eddie reached up and smoothed his fingers through Richie’s hair, mimicking Richie as he curled some of the grey locks around his temple around his finger. Richie had finally let his hair grow out too, ebony curls resting around his forehead that always became a tangled mess before lunchtime even came around. Richie would complain about the grey hairs from time to time, but Eddie found the silver strands insisting and flattering. Richie couldn’t argue with Eddie on that.

“I’m going to miss you,” Richie informed him sincerely.

If it weren’t for the flutter of his heart like a caged bird desperate for flight, Eddie would have rolled his eyes. “I’ll only be gone a week.”

“Yeah, Eds. That’s a whole week without you- my little love bug. You’re the apple to my eye, the peanut butter to my jam, light of my life-”

“I think I get it Rich,” Eddie said, trying to hide his laughter. “You’re going to miss me.”

“I mean duh...But it’s more than just that.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to starve without you here,” he confessed. Eddie should have known where that was headed, but his head was always full of dopiness when he had all of Richie’s attention. “You know I eat that ass for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

“Oh- _Jesus_ Rich!”

Richie was hysterical with laughter.

Eddie smacked him in the arm, unable to contain his own laughter.

“I thought we were having a moment,” Eddie yelled.

Richie was too caught up in his own joke to care, tears wetting his lashes.

“You’re _so_ gross. You're so not funny. Get off me. Let me go,” Eddie poked and jabbed at him until finally, he released him from his laughter induced grip.

Richie immediately grabbed Eddie’s wrist before he could retreat any further and spun him into the vee of his open legs. He placed his hands on Eddie’s hips and drew him closer. Eddie caught his balance, bracing himself on the broad width of Richie’s shoulders. He cupped his hands over his jaw, unable to help himself.

“I really will miss you,” Richie admitted.

“I know.”

Eddie tilted his head down- because Richie was still slightly taller than him even sitting down- and pressed his lips to Richie’s, close and desperate. Richie opened his mouth, his breath ghosting over Eddie’s top lip. Richie’s mouth moved against his until Eddie felt consumed entirely by Richie. He was nipping and sucking at Eddie’s lower lip until a desperate sound escaped the back of his throat.

“Do we have time?” Richie asked, his voice rough with arousal.

Eddie didn’t turn to look at the clock. Instead, he led Richie back to their bedroom, tugging on his sleeve.

By the time they were both fully naked, it felt like his stomach had gone four rounds on Magic Mountain; arousal spiking hot in his lower abdomen as if he had done a hundred sit-ups. Eddie pushed Richie down into the mattress and straddled him, his hands planted firmly on his shoulders. Richie sat up, hands pulling him closer around the small of his back until they were kissing again. Richie quickly abandoned his lips, trailing wet open-mouthed kisses down his neck. When he got to his chest, he latched his mouth against a flat nipple. Eddied jerked forward almost violently, cupping his palm flat against Richie’s skull to keep him there. Richie knew how sensitive Eddie was and although he appreciated Richie’s desire to take his time, he wanted more.

“Hey,” Eddie urged, pulling Richie’s hair so he could see how desperate Eddie was. “I want you inside me.”

“Yeah?” Richie beamed.

“Yeah, now come on.”

They shuffled around, Eddie’s eyes following Richie’s every move as he leaned over to grab the lube and a condom; his body soft and strong; muscles in his arms flexing. Richie flipped their position. He grabbed Eddie by the hips, pulling him into his lap and that alone nearly sent Eddie off the edge.

Richie leaned down to kiss him, his mouth softening as they readjusted themselves comfortably. Eddie trembled beneath him, moaning softly as Richie’s tongue slipped into his mouth.

Richie shoved Eddie into the mattress, his body heavy and warm as he forced their bodies to mold together. Eddie’s hip twitched up, rubbing against Richie’s lower stomach, the drag of his cock against Richie’s skin glorious. By the time Richie had worked three fingers into him, Eddie was incoherent. His thighs, spread over Richie’s where he was kneeling between his legs, were visibly shaking. His cock was flushed full and Richie had to lean down and press a tender kiss to the inside of his thigh, then to the warm heat between his legs. Eddie groaned like he had been sucker-punched in the gut. Richie knew he didn’t have much time before Eddie was bursting at the seams.

“You ready, cowboy?” Richie asked, rolling on a condom. Eddie’s face probably would have blossomed a deep red at the nickname if he wasn’t already burning up.

“Just get inside me already,” Eddie nearly begged. Richie sprung into action. He positioned himself between Eddie’s legs. Eddie drew them up, pressed them against Richie’s ribs, one leg snaking over Richie’s back to edge him forward where he so desperately needed him to be. When he finally pushed in, Eddie’s brain turned to mush.

It felt like the sun had burst inside his pelvis, flooding him with warmth.

“ _Shit_ ,” he breathed, bowing his head to try and watch as Richie disappeared inside of him.

He held onto Richie, his fingers digging into his bicep. He was probably leaving crescent-shaped moons. No doubt Richie would run his fingers over them at night when Eddie was away, remembering the tight heat of his body. They pressed their foreheads together, breathing the same air; gasping into each other's mouths.

Eddie nodded when he was ready for more, cursing under his breath as Richie bottomed out. As Richie slid in and out- slow at first- the world seemed to move by like molasses. On the third thrust, Richie was well on his way to losing control.

“Come on,” Eddie begged, knowing that Richie had more to offer. He tugged on the hair at the nape of his neck, drawing him down into a sloppy kiss.

Richie grabbed both Eddie’s wrists, and for a moment Eddie thought he was holding onto him the same way Eddie had been holding on to him; needing to have something to keep him grounded. But Richie drew them high above his head, one large hand locking them into place above Eddie’s head, the other grabbing his hip in a tight grip so he could keep Eddie’s body where he wanted him. Eddie’s eyes nearly rolled back into his head and he tried to draw his hips into a circle, to get what he wanted but soon Richie was giving everything to him. He thrust into Eddie, knocking the breath out of him until all he could manage were little breathy whines coming from somewhere high in his throat.

The bed frame slammed into the wall repeatedly, drowning out both their desperate noises.

“Rich,” Eddie whined. “Rich- _please_.”

Richie grunted, leaning down to capture his lips again and snaking a hand between them, fisting Eddie’s cock in time with his thrusts. Soon, Eddie was shaking so badly any other time he would have been worried he was dying. But this was what Richie did to him. He could hold him down and fuck his brains out; thrust so deep into him that pain and pleasure mixed beautifully together. All Eddie could do was lie there, trembling beneath Richie’s broad shoulders and big hands and big body until he was cracked open, his consciousness pouring out of him and leaving him unbelievably dazed.

Eddie came so hard he feared he would pass out. Except, Richie was there above him, dripping sweat and still holding his wrists in a- no doubt- bruising grip. The thought eased the last of his orgasm out, leaving him pliant and limp as Richie finished off in one, two, three thrusts. Richie bit him in the shoulder to muffle his moans, pain sparking along his neck and collarbone. In the end, Richie was buried so deep in Eddie he thought he could feel him in the back of his throat.

Richie finally released Eddie’s wrist. Eddie could barely even move so he left his hands there against the pillow, flexing his fingers poorly. Richie pulled out carefully, and Eddie hissed in brief discomfort.

He tied off the condom before walking over to the bathroom. Sometime later Eddie became aware of a cool wet rag being dragged over his skin. 

“I think you broke me,” Eddie slurred.

Richie chuckled, cleaning between his legs and only drawing away when Eddie turned his body away in protest. Eventually, Richie flopped down next to him, head in his hand as he stared at Eddie staring at him. Richie traced the curve of his bare hip with a feather-like touch.

“Did I hurt you?” Richie asked, his voice soft.

“Hmm,” Eddie hummed, his eyelids feeling heavy. “Just a little.”

He meant it as a joke, but when Richie fell uncharacteristically silent, Eddie’s eyes searched his face. Richie’s brows were drawn together tightly, his lips pressed together firmly.

“Hey,” Eddie drew his attention back to him. He slid forward, out of the damp spot, and threw a leg over Richie’s hip drawing him closer. The press of their naked bodies together was soothing.

Eddie cupped his jaw, forcing him to look at him.

“I was joking. You know I like it when you’re rough.”

“Yeah?” Richie’s eyes searched his face for any sign of secrecy.

“Yeah you big doofus,” Eddie kissed his nose, then both his cheeks, then his mouth. “I am going to be really sore on my flight though, so I’m not looking forward to that.”

Richie smiled at that, lopsided and goofy. His glasses were still stained with orange juice.

“Who’s fault is that, hmm?”

“Totally your fault, of course.”

“ _My_ fault? Sir, _you_ seduced _me_. In my own kitchen.”

“Oh did I?” Eddie couldn't stop smiling.

They ended up tackling each other and just when Eddie thought he had the upper hand, Richie flipped him over with ease, smothering him into the mattress where he assaulted him with more raspberry kisses. Richie pressed his chin into Eddie’s stomach, sprawled out between his legs where they were framing either side of his head. Eddie combed his fingers through his messy hair, playing with the ends. Richie leaned into his touch, eyes closed; dark lashes fanned across his face. For a while, the only sound was their breathing and the whirling sound of the fan overhead.

Eddie's stomach filled with dread. He wanted to stay like that for the rest of the day, encompassed by Richie and his warmth. He would rest a few more minutes, he told himself, and then he'd have to force himself to get up and head to the airport, head heavy with anxiety. His palms were already sweating at the thought. 

“Is now a bad time to remind you that I hate your mother,” Richie whispered out of the blue.

Eddie’s hand stilled.

It was always hard talking about his mother, even to Richie. Even after all this time. Richie’s nose would always scrunch up as if he ate something sour whenever Eddie mentioned visiting his mother. Or mentioned her at all really.

Eddie understood that his relationship with his mother wasn’t picture-perfect, by any means. But Eddie thought he was mature enough to set aside their issues, especially when his mother was so sick. He’d hate to have their last moments be tainted by past mistakes; haunted by the errors of parenthood.

Eddie tugged at Richie’s hair, probably a little too hard.

“Richie,” Eddie warned. He felt the growing pressure of a headache against his temples.

“Eddie,” Richie mocked. He untangled himself so he could lay on his side next to him.

“Not every parent is perfect, we've been through this," he groaned. "You’ve said plenty of times that your parents aren't perfect and I’ve never given you shit for it. So why are you always giving me shit when it comes to my mom? That’s not fair.”

“It's different with my parents, and you know that,” Richie said and there was anger behind his words. Not for suggesting that Richie’s parents were indeed flawed, but anger towards Eddie. It made him want to disappear, to have the mattress open up and swallow him whole. He hated that the anger made him want to cry. Worse, was that he made Richie feel angry. Especially towards him.

Something must have flashed across his face because the next thing Eddie knew, Richie was covering him with his body, fingers smoothing down his face.

“I’m not mad at you, Eds,” he soothed.

Eddie stared up at Richie, searching his features for any sign of annoyance or disdain. He found only worry, his mouth turned down in concern.

“She’s my mom,” was all Eddie could muster.

He could never put into words why he felt the way he did. He knew how fucked up his childhood was, at least from the bits and pieces he _did_ remember. He remembered how his mother would always hover over him like a thick grey thunder cloud. He remembered feeling so incredibly small under her gaze, insecure in his own skin; made to feel delicate and weak. He remembered how she treated Richie- even Beverly- and how her stare alone could cause them to feel uncertain about themselves. But he also remembered the rare moments of sitting with her after dinner and playing scrabble; a smile would crack across her usual stone-cold facade. Eddie remembered feeling pride and the way it filled up his chest cavity as if he was pumping helium in a balloon; so full of it he thought he’d be able to float away. He remembered so little of his childhood these days, so remembering moments like those were important to him. He needed to be reminded that it wasn't _all_ bad when it came to his mother.

He knew it was hard for his mother to overcome his father’s death. Eddie couldn’t even imagine being a parent with another fully functioning adult, let alone being one on his own. He knew it didn’t excuse her behavior or practices or secrets- as many years in therapy had taught him- but none of that awareness would be able to chip away the small amount of love that remained. It was all he had left to give her.

“I just think- I think she’s using you,” Richie admitted, his voice steady and calm as if he had practiced saying those words a thousand times before. 

Something vexing surged through him. Eddie had always played with that idea in the back of his mind, but he didn’t want to face that possibility. Now, it was too late. Once someone else planted the seed of doubt, it spread through him like a wildfire.

“Get off me,” Eddie heard himself say.

“Eddie,” Richie sighed.

“No- seriously Rich. Get off me.”

Richie rolled over and Eddie made his escape. His skin felt balmy, his hands started to shake.

“Eddie-”

“No,” Eddie warned. He knew he probably looked ridiculous standing in the middle of their room naked, flushed red from head to toe. He grabbed a shirt from the end of the bed to shield himself.

“Don’t you think I get it? Huh? Don’t you think I know how stupid she makes me look?” Eddie’s vision around the edges grew dark, but the words weren’t blind and they kept pouring out of him with no end in sight.

“Eddie-”

“I feel stupid, ok? I feel like no matter how hard I try to escape her- to stop loving her- the further I skink into her trap. And shouldn’t I be mad? Shouldn’t I be the one who hates her? Well, guess what? I don’t. And you’re just going to have to deal with it, because no matter what, Richie, I can’t. I can’t! No matter how hard I try, I can’t! I-”

“Eddie!”

The world slammed back into focus.

“You’re bleeding,” Richie said his voice meek. He was suddenly right there in front of him, boxers on backward and a hand cupping his elbow like he thought Eddie was going to topple over.

Eddie’s fingers went straight to his nose, like a knee jerk reaction.

“Shit,” he hissed, his finger stained red when he swiped them under his nose. He could taste the metallic tang of his blood as it dripped down into his mouth.

The next thing he knew, Richie had lifted him up onto the countertop in their bathroom while Eddie held clumps of toilet paper under his nose. He could hear the water running and Richie moving around. But it was like being in a dream. It felt like he would wake up any second and shake off the residue of sleep and the world would become clear again. Eddie realized he was probably having a panic attack.

“Fuck!” Richie yelled. “What the fuck did we do with it?”

“Richie?” Eddie crocked. His breath rattled when he tried to gulp in air. He couldn't tell if he was on the verge of crying or hyperventilating or both.

Richie was still rummaging around in the medicine cabinet.

“Of course,” he huffed. “I can find the fucking stool softener but not-”

“Richie?”

He broke out of his moment of rage and rushed over to Eddie’s side.

"Hey," he said gently.

Eddie immediately grabbed Richie, pulling him closer until he could wrap one arm around his neck and bury his face in his chest.

“I’m ok,” Eddie breathed around the tissues. And really, he was. He just needed to breathe.

He took a shaky breath, feeling the air travel through him with a little more ease.

“I promise, I’m ok.”

Richie engulfed him, resting his chin on the top of his head. His hand snuck between them, his knuckles rubbing circles in the center of his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Richie whispered. The urge to cry quickly subsided. Now, Eddie was stuffed full of red hot frustration. Not at Richie. None of this was ever about Richie. This was about Eddie’s own stupidity.

“Please don’t- don’t apologize,” Eddie mumbled. He drew Richie closer and he realized he was still naked but he hardly cared at that point.

“I know you’re just looking out for me.”

Richie untangled himself, just enough to tip Eddie’s face up towards him. He searched his face, eyes dark and gentle.

“Hell yeah, I’m looking after you, Eds.”

“I love you,” Eddie confessed.

Now Richie looked like he was ready to shed some tears. Instead, he tilted his head and sealed his lips over Eddie’s. It was a cloy kiss. For a moment Eddie's heart sank, remembering the blood on his lips but he quickly squandered that thought and redirected his focus.

“I think I'm going to miss my flight,” Eddie muttered.

He could feel the vibration of Richie’s quiet laugh under his hand where it was pressed against his back.

“If you let me drive, you know I’ll get you there before the plane takes off.”

“Before or after they close the gates. That matters.”

“I don’t think that matters, just flash those cute ass dimples of yours and you’ll be sitting in the cockpit. Front row seats, I guarantee it.”

Eddie squinted up at him, trying to hide his smile. Richie’s smirk was not at all innocent. Clearly, he wasn’t talking about the dimples plainly seen on his face.

“I’m not going to commit public indecency just to make it on a flight.”

“Never say I never gave you any great life advice, Eds.”

Eddie pulled him down for one more kiss, feeling Richie's smile against his lips before it deepened and turned buttery smooth.

They made it to the airport with fifteen minutes to spare before Eddie had to board his plane. Eddie did some breathing exercises in the bathroom while Richie kept watch outside. The last thing he needed was to have a panic attack on a plane thirty thousand feet in the air, without Richie by his side to help calm him down.

Richie was peppering his face with kisses, his large hands framing his face and making it impossible to escape. Not that Eddie wanted to. It was a little embarrassing, but Eddie flourished under the attention. Richie kissed the tip of his nose and both his cheeks before finishing with a peck on his lips. Eddie craned his neck back to stare at Richie.

“I love you,” he told him. Richie seemed to be radiating happiness and Eddie wished he could take some of the heat with him to bundle up in. He leaned down and kissed him intensely in front of the whole airport.

“I love you too.”

Eddie waved an unnecessary amount of times before Richie disappeared out of view and away he was swept.


	2. Welcome to Derry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He fiddled with the wedding band around his finger, smoothing his thumb over the worn surface. They always said they would replace the bands for better ones because at twenty-two they had very little money to spare outside of their ridiculously expensive bills in Manhattan. But Eddie couldn’t let go of them. These were the original rings of their promise to spend forever together. God, and he thought Stan was the sappy one.

Eddie couldn’t remember the last time he had been to Maine without the other Losers present.

He remembered very little of their time spent there as children and as ungovernable teens; racing through the fields behind Mike’s house, howling like maniacs. He did remember bottle-feeding a newborn calf one summer, staring at Mike with wide eyes. He wasn’t grossed out with being stuck in the hut, with its stench and sultry air. Richie made way to many cow jokes that day so it ended up being Eddie and Mike, pressed shoulder to shoulder with hay in their hair and dirt on their jeans. Eventually, Richie’s grumbling outside had compelled them to let him back in.

He somewhat remembered the summer of when they were all chasing the edge of eighteen, ready to conquer adulthood. Beverly and Richie had become enthralled with smoking then, a habit that had Eddie gagging every time the pewter smoke lingered in the air. But other than that- besides a few congealed memories that were stuck to him for life- he didn’t remember much of his life in Derry.

It turned out none of them did.

Not Stanley, though he vaguely recalled the memories of growing up under his father’s stern gaze and religious intent. Ben only remembered his run-in with bullies, manly. The thin shiny brown scar was a daily reminder of what it was like growing up differently in a small town. Mike remembered the shattering realities of what it was like to live in black skin under the scathing white eyes of Derry. Beverly could never escape the grotty words of the popular girls or the revolting gaze of her father. She had come out stronger, but her father’s face still lingered from time to time. And Bill. Big Bill, the golden leader.

All that went with him when he left the confines of Derry, Maine was the memory of little Gorgie. His death was a tragic accident, a chronic pain that could never go away. They all thought it was normal for them to forget. The traumas of their past didn’t deserve to live on, so forgetting was what they all resorted to.

It was still oddly terrifying, coming back alone after twenty-seven long years.

As he was weaving his way through the throng of people in Bangor International Airport Eddie felt a peculiar tug on his sleeve. It was so sudden and light Eddie first mistook it for someone brushing past him but then he felt it again when he was standing in line at the Highlands Cafe. A shiver ran down his spine. He had to shift from one foot to another to balance out the sudden spike of nerves. That was all it was, nervous energy.

The tingle along his shoulders was like a phantom hand trying to guide him somewhere with its' energy.

Eddie knew if he had a panic attack right here in the middle of an airport it would surely scar him for life. He needed to redirect his focus. He couldn’t think about walking into Derry alone, facing his mother for the first time in five years. Why did she have to move back to Derry? he angrily wondered to himself. There was nothing there for her. There weren’t any good oncologists in Derry. Why had he discouraged Richie when he suggested that he tag along? Why was he letting his mother use him; abusing his kindness? Why was he so stupidly submissive towards his mother? Eddie knew she was using him. She was dying and she was desperate to have him be there so she wouldn’t have to rely on any “sleazy” nurses she’d said. It wasn’t even about Eddie being there for her as her son. Why-

A tap on his shoulder startled him violently.

“Sorry,” a young girl spoke. She held her hands up in surrender. She was looking at him with confusion, her dark brows raised in question. “It’s just,” she pointed ahead of them towards the register where the cashier was waiting, “are you going to order something...or?”

“Oh,” Eddie’s face flooded with heat. He stumbled towards the counter, sending her an apologetic look. She gave him a tight-lipped, annoyed smile in return.

The hunger that had been creeping in was suddenly replaced by the urgent need to vomit. But that was not an option. No way. So Eddie ordered a cup of overpriced oats to hopefully help absorb whatever it was that was brewing in the pit of his stomach.

When he finally sat down it was well past eight o’clock at night. New York had the same time zone, so Eddie knew Richie would be awake. He was probably sitting by his phone waiting for Eddie's call. At this time he was likely face-timing Mike or Ben or he could have been on one of his hour-long calls with Bev or insulting Bill in the comment section on Twitter. Stan didn't allow phone calls after eight because he liked to spend time with Patty.

The idea of bothering Richie with his ridiculous anxieties about seeing his mother didn’t sit right with Eddie. Richie had already done so much for him and not just in the past few weeks helping him prepare for this visit, but he'd already done so much for Eddie their entire lives. For as long as Eddie could remember, Richie was always there. Eddie couldn’t remember the last time he turned around and Richie wasn’t there when he needed him.

He fiddled with the wedding band around his finger, smoothing his thumb over the worn surface. They always said they would replace the bands for better ones because at twenty-two they had very little money to spare outside of their ridiculously expensive bills in Manhattan. But Eddie couldn’t let go of them. These were the original rings of their promise to spend forever together. _God_ , and he thought Stan was the sappy one.

Eddie remembered the weight of the proposal slamming down on him. Eddie knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Richie, no other option had ever occurred. But in 1998 they only had two places in the entire US where gay marriage was legal and it was still all so new. The idea of the whole world being able to see the glimmering band on his finger, asking him about his wife was too much in the beginning, but he knew he couldn’t lie. He would never let his love for Richie be swept into secrecy. Yet, at the time, he didn’t think he could tell the truth either.

He struggled with the idea for months. Could he really be happy, like in the movies? Could he get the happily ever after? The question that weighed him down the most was whether or not he'd ever had the courage to confront his mother with his love for Richie. Would it swell up and blow up in his face, or would it simmer over and all work out for him in end. Eddie guessed he was about to find out...eighteen years later.

After four long months of contemplation, the Losers and Richie’s parents- and a few friends from Richie's comedy clubs- flew to Hawaii. After that, they had been inseparable ever since. Well, more inseparable than before...If that was even possible. Apparently it was. 

It had been so long since he and Richie had been this far apart from one another. The thought made him queasy. Dread sank like a boulder in the pit of his stomach. 

This would be the first time Eddie’s mother would see the ring. Before, he was always careful to hide it the few times she _had_ visited him over the years, but Eddie was tired of hiding Richie from her. Richie didn’t deserve to be shrouded in Eddie’s insecurities and fears. Especially when it came to his mother. Especially not after all this time.

Remembering his promise to Richie, that was easy. He could never forget when it came to him. So, Eddie powered on and remembered and the remembering carried him to where he needed to go.


	3. 1998

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie remembered standing on the back of Mike’s bike, arms raised in the air feeling the wind cut through his fingers. It was different than riding on the back of Bill’s bike. Bill was fast and reckless, speeding down hills and flying over the asphalt. Stan thought it was too dangerous to have two people on a bike at once and Ben always had Beverly on the back of his. Back then, Eddie had been too afraid to sit so close to Richie, though he longed to wrap his arms around his waist to feel his heartbeat under his fingertips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: brief panic attack, drinking, explicit sexual content

Everything was spinning. Eddie sank to the floor, trying to control his rapid heartbeat, a constant thrashing against his ribcage.

Then, all of a sudden Eddie was bent over the toilet, retching until his throat burned.

He pressed his head against the cool tiles on the bathroom floor, curled in on himself. Sweat dripped down his brow; his whole body was shaking with nerves.

Why was he like this? Why couldn't he have a normal reaction to a proposal?

A knock on the door startled him, but he couldn’t seem to call his limbs into action; lying there next to the bathtub like a discarded rag doll.

The door creaked open- of course, he forgot to lock the door- and Richie stepped in, closing himself inside with Eddie.

“Eds?” Richie spoke up, his voice quiet and sad.

Hearing the sadness in his voice made Eddie seize with shame.

Eddie didn’t realize he was crying until an ugly sob tore through him. He kept crying, unable to control the flood of emotions that surged through him.

The next thing he knew, Richie was tugging him into his lap. Richie’s back was against the wall across from the toilet and Eddie was cradled in his lap like a child. Any other time he’d have the ability to be embarrassed, but the sobs were relentless and he couldn’t focus on anything else.

Richie was saying something, but Eddie couldn’t make out any coherent words, his crying was so loud. He could feel Richie’s fingers comb through his hair, a soothing gesture.

Eddie buried his face in Richie’s chest and wrapped his arms around his waist, hiding as the worst of emotions took over.

Eventually, his breathing leveled out and he was no longer hiccupping around his rattling breath.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie found his voice. He still refused to look at Richie, embarrassed and riddled with guilt. He dug his forehead in the center of Richie’s chest, breathing in and out.

“For what?” Richie asked, his voice stuffed full of annoyance. “Hey,” he urged, tugging on Eddie’s hair, forcing him to look up.

Eddie wrapped his arms around him more tightly in a vice grip and shook his head.

“Look at me,” Richie pressed. “Look at me, Eddie.”

His tone of voice was serious and urgent.

Eddie slowly lifted his head, rubbing his runny nose with the back of his sleeve, averting his eyes.

“I said look at me,” Richie's voice was rigorous.

He forced Eddie’s eyes on him, gripping the side of his jaw so their eyes met and he could see how honest and intense Richie’s face was.

“What are you sorry for?” he questioned, his eyes searching Eddie’s face.

“I-”

What was Eddie sorry for? Was he sorry for running away like a coward because Richie asked him to marry him? Was he apologizing because he knew Richie deserved better, deserved someone who wasn’t afraid of accepting all the love he could give?

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Richie told him, smoothing back some of his hair, slicked with sweat. “Do you understand?”

Eddie nodded, his throat tight.

“I- I just need time,” he told Richie, his voice quiet, “to think about it.”

Deep down, Eddie knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Richie. There was no other option for him. It had been Richie and Eddie- Eddie and Richie- for so long. The love they had for each other had stretched and swelled into a great chasm and neither of them wanted to climb out.

But Eddie felt a pinch of sorrow. He knew that Richie’s love was heavy and intense where Eddie’s was reserved and silent. Richie deserved someone who was willing to show him off; brag about him until people became envious, wanting what Eddie had.

He wanted to blame his mother, the stigmas of boys loving boys thrown at him until he was bruised with the reminder that the world didn’t want him to be happy.

It had been almost four years since he had escaped his mother’s grueling upbringing so why was Eddie still caught in her wicked ways? Why was he so afraid of Richie’s love?

“Of course,” Richie smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“It’s not a no,” Eddie rushed, feeling pinned in place with the intensity of Richie’s stare, “I just- there's a lot to think about.”

They were both still in school and Richie just found an agent; his future was promising. Eddie was confident his career was about to take off and neither of them were quite prepared for that. Richie was the ripe age of twenty-two, Eddie right behind him; just as childish and crude. Marriage was a huge commitment and on top of that, a lot of money. If they did get married, Eddie would have to deck it out; lavishing Richie in the most expensive love he could afford. Richie deserved only the best.

“Take all the time you need, Eds,” he drew him forward and kissed the top of his head.

Eddie wrapped his arms around his neck and breathed in the familiar scent of Richie’s cologne, a spring of rosemary drifting through his senses.

He would be good to Richie, he swore.

* * *

**FOUR MONTHS LATER**

Eddie couldn’t stop laughing.

He was shaking with laughter, his stomach cramping. Tears were streaming down his face. He fell over in Richie’s lap, wheezing with joy.

“Listen,” Mike was saying, “when a lady yells ‘who wants ice cream’ I can’t resist.”

“But,” Bev said, laughing too, “that lady was talking to her children, Mike. How did she react when a six-foot-four black man came running along with her Asian children?”

Mike shrugged, his arms spread over the couch casual as could be. He didn’t seem one bit embarrassed.

“She thought he was very handsome,” Bill spoke. He was sipping a beer, pressed against Mike’s side. “He flirted his way to a chocolate fudge ice cream cone,” he informed, smiling around his drink.

“And it was delicious,” Mike winked.

Eddie was still laughing, his head resting on Richie’s thigh.

“Eds,” Richie patted his back, “it’s not that funny, bud. You’re gonna pop a blood vessel or something.”

“It’s pretty funny,” Stan said, sprawled across the rug near Ben and Bev’s feet, head propped in his hand. “You’re just jealous because you could never seduce an old Asian woman into giving _you_ free ice cream.”

Richie couldn’t help but roll his eyes, nudging Stan’s shoulder with his foot.

Eddie huffed, pulling himself up.

“You- you could totally- I’d let you seduce me,” Eddie babbled, planting a firm kiss on his cheek.

“Aw, babe,” Richie cooed, “you’re so sweet.”

Eddie hummed in satisfaction, burrowing deep into his side.

The conversation wandered off and Eddie was finally able to calm his laughter, limp with relaxation.

Eddie reached across the table for his glass.

“Whoa,” Richie caught his wrist, “I think you should call it quits for the night, doncha think? You’re pretty drunk.”

“‘M not drunk,” he slurred, falling back against the couch, “you’re drunk.”

“Sure, babe,” he said and patted his leg.

He stood up to stretch, his back popping. He should really be stretching with Eddie in the mornings.

“All right,” he addressed the Losers, “Eds and I are gonna call it a night. Thank you all for being the most cordial of guests, but alas, we must retire to our chambers. You all know the way out, and with that, we shall see you tomorrow.”

He knew Eddie would be grumpy as fuck in the morning if he didn't get proper rest after drinking all night. The other Losers booed them as they retreated to their room. Richie flipped them off before closing the door in their faces, dragging Eddie behind him.

Immediately Eddie crowded him against the door, kissing him messily. Richie indulged him for a moment, drawing him closer by the hips so their bodies fit together. Eddie stood on his toes, curling an arm around his neck to pull him closer. He slowly pressed his tongue against Richie’s.

“Ohkay,” Richie pulled back, but still kept Eddie close.

Eddie started leaving sloppy kisses against his neck, his breath warm where he was breathing heavily. He snuck a hand in the back of Richie’s jeans, getting him to roll his hips forward in a languid slide.

“Hey,” Richie drew Eddie’s hand away and placed it over his heart. “We should get you to bed.”

Eddie drew back, looking offended. His cheeks were rosy pink, his eyes glazed over. The lamp next to their bed cast orange light across the room, bathing them in a summery glow.

“‘M not tired,” he said.

Richie traced the shape of his brow with a delicate finger.

“I’m not having sex with you while your drunk,” he said, eyes roaming over Eddie’s features, “you know the rules.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, groaning. He headbutted Richie in the chest before stepping back and getting undressed.

Richie watched him struggle out of his jeans, nearly crashing into the dresser.

“Stop laughin’ at me,” he mumbled trying to free his foot.

“I’m not laughing,” Richie said, smiling.

He sat Eddie down on the edge of their bed and helped him properly undress, tossing his clothes somewhere behind them. Sober Eddie would have scolded Richie for that.

Eddie flopped back against the bed, sighing. He reached down to tug off his underwear, revealing himself to Richie; the neatly trimmed hair between his legs and the purple bruise blossoming on the inside of his thigh where Richie had bitten him the other night.

He threw his arm over his eyes, legs dangling off the bed.

Richie’s face flared with heat and he had to turn his back to get himself ready for bed. He slipped out of his clothes, naked just like Eddie.

When he turned around, his breath caught in his throat.

Eddie was on his stomach, his shoulder blades winged out; the dimples on his back prominent as he rolled his hips forward, a pillow between his legs.

“Shit, Eds,” Richie breathed, heat spreading up his thighs. His stomach was doing somersaults.

Richie crawled over to Eddie, lying down on his side facing him.

“Is this you taking your revenge,” he asked, brushing Eddie's hair behind his ear, “because I wouldn’t  
have sex with you?”

Eddie turned to look at him, a mischievous grin spread across his face. The smile tampered off as he rolled his hips, his cock sliding against the folds of the pillow, eliciting a breathy whine. He dropped his head between his shoulders, muffling another high pitched whimper.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Richie sighed, turning on his back, never taking his eyes off Eddie.

His cock was already filling out, making his head spin. The sight of Eddie laid out as he glided his hips down into the mattress was intoxicating; the light hair on his legs and thigh, the flex of his muscles and his high pitched moans as he chased his orgasm.

Richie twisted his hand around the base of his cock moving up towards the head where he could thumb over the slit, precome dripping down. He turned to bury his head in his elbow as he moaned, afraid the others might hear.

Eddie didn’t seem to care who heard. He jerked his hips forward- one, two, three times- crying out as his stomach tensed, spilling all over the pillow beneath him. He stayed there, lying in his mess.

Then he was crawling over to Richie, kissing him sluggishly coaxing his mouth open so he could flick his tongue behind his teeth.  
He laid on his side, staring down at Richie gripping the base of his cock.

“I wanna see you come,” he said easily.

Richie couldn’t deny Eddie anything.

He sped up his strokes, the friction of his hand making his hips jump forward. He swiped his  
thumb around the head with every upstroke, his stomach tensing as he neared the edge.

“ _Ah_ -Shit, ” Richie gasped.

Eddie turned his head so he could capture his lips in another kiss. Richie convulsed, coming in long hot spurts. Eddie swallowed his moans, kissing him through the aftershock of his orgasm.

They lied there for a moment, Eddie throwing a leg over Richie’s, his forehead pressed against Richie’s shoulder. He was playing with the hair on Richie’s chest, content, and placid.

Richie expected Eddie to pull away, the stickiness of both their come sticking to their stomachs. Drunk Eddie seemed to be less strict with his after sex rituals.

Eddie sat up abruptly, staring down at Richie with those big round eyes and slanted brows. He traced the outline of Richie’s lip before leaning down and kissing him. Except he missed, kissing the side of his mouth. He trailed open mouth kisses across his cheek until he could press a gentle kiss to the tip of his ear.

“I wanna marry you,” he whispered. “I wanna- wanna spend ‘m whole life with you. Wann love you- forever.”

“Not gonna lie,” Richie spoke, steading the shakiness in voice, “that sounds amazing.”

“‘M being serious,” Eddie huffed.

“You’re drunk,” he pointed out.

“So?” Eddie gawked, straddling Richie’s hips in one swift movement, his ass seated on top of his thighs. He braced both hands on his chest, staring down at him.

The bridge of his nose was freckled and flushed. Richie couldn’t believe how lucky he was, unable to look away. His hands went to grab his hips, thumbing over his jutting hip bones.

“‘M gonna make you mine,” Eddie said, his eyes shining with startling clarity.

“You already have me,” Richie admitted his heart racing, “married or not.”

“You don’t wanna- don’t wanna marry me. I thought...?” he asked, his nose scrunching up.

God, how could he be so fucking hot and cute at the same time?

“I wanna marry the fuck out of you,” Richie confessed, “but you’re drunk.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, collapsing on top of Richie.

“‘M not that drunk,” he mumbled.

Richie just hummed, carding his fingers through his hair.

“But ‘m- ‘m gonna wanna marry you still. In the mornin’ ‘m gonna wanna marry you,” he slurred.

Before Richie could reply, Eddie’s breathing quieted and he fell asleep just like that, nestled against his beating heart.

* * *

When Eddie woke up, his mouth was dry and he felt like he had been stuffed full of cotton. He rolled over, the sheets smooth and clean- Richie changed them in the middle of the night, bless him. Quickly, pressure started to build, pressing against his temple.

He reached for the clock on the nightstand, confused on what day it even was. His fingers brushed against a glass, water dripping over his fingers.

Eddie sat up, the sheets pooling around his naked body.

There on the nightstand was a tall glass of water and some Tylenol.

 _I want to marry him_ , Eddie thought out of the blue.

The realization crashed over him like a tsunami, and this time he refused to run from it. _I’m going to marry Richie Tozier_ , Eddie realized.

It was the simple things that piled up and when it came crashing down, Eddie didn’t know why he ever ran from it. The tug and pull on his heart was so strong, there was no escaping it.

Eddie washed down the medicine. He threw on one of Richie’s discarded shirts- swallowed by the bright yellow fabric- and padded into the kitchen.

The small living space was clean and tidy, despite the Losers making an absolute mess last night. _I'm going to marry him_ , he told himself. Eddie followed the sound of Richie’s voice, humming along to a _Queensryche_ song that was playing from the ratty old radio.

He was in his boxers, standing over the stove. He was beautiful, wide shoulders and chest covered in dark hair; tall and lean. Eddie wanted to see his face, strong features, and magnified eyes.

Richie used the spatula as a microphone as he mouthed along to the lyrics, dramatic and drawn  
out.

_I will remember/ You will remember/ The star that came tonight_

Eddie leaned against the wall, watching. His heart swelled at the sight of Richie, the desire to wake up to this every day consuming him in a single bite.

Richie turned and saw him there, nearly jumping out his skin.

“ _Jesus_ , fuck Eds,” he breathed, hand over his heart because when was Richie never one for dramatics.

“Sorry,” Eddie said, not at all sorry, “I didn’t want to interrupt the beautiful rendition you had going on.”

“Oh, fuck off,” he laughed, turning back to the stove.

Eddie came and wrapped his arms around Richie’s middle just to be close to him.

“Scrambled eggs ok?” he asked.

Eddie nodded, sneaking under his arm so he could steal a kiss.

Eddie helped plate their breakfast- scrambled eggs mixed with vegetables and toast- because it was the least he could do.

Richie sat down first and instead of taking a seat across from him, Eddie sat sideways in Richie’s lap, arms around his neck.

“Hi,” Richie smiled, running a hand up and down his bare leg before drawing him closer with an arm around his waist.

“Hi,” Eddie brushed his hair out of his face so he could see all of him.

“Your breakfast’s gonna get cold,” he said, his voice small.

“It’s the morning,” Eddie pointed out, ignoring Richie.

“Technically, it’s the afternoon,” he said and flicked the tip of his nose just to watch him squirm.

“I still want to marry you,” he spoke. “Morning, afternoon, night- I still want to marry you.”

“Yeah?” Richie asked around a wet laugh.

“Yeah,” Eddie said, confident and full of love.

Richie kissed him, fervent and emotional until both their lips were numb.

* * *

They got married on a Monday in the middle of July.

The venue was high on a cliff, the sapphire blue waves crashing against the rocky base; foaming rippling tides.

There were twenty carob chairs, facing the sea. A grand arch was front and center wrapped in daisy white fabric with beautifully designed of flowers; claret red with fern color leaves. Ivory flowers were scattered down the walkway.

Hawaii was only one of two states that had legalized gay marriage and Alaska didn’t seem fitting for any of them. Richie and Eddie were all about the summer sun; heat warming their skin with friendly water to splash through.

So there they were. Richie’s parents, the Losers, and some of Richie’s comedy club friends- their friends or partners- who were kind-hearted and friendly enough to trust. The summer air was misty and salty as the waves crashed below.

“You look handsome,” Beverly said, smoothing her hands down the front of Eddie’s jacket.

Eddie turned to look at himself in the mirror.

His suite was peacock blue, a white Lei flower tucked in the front pocket. His hair was combed back neatly, though not entirely tamed.

“I look like a monkey in a suit,” he said, staring down at his shoes. They were grey and gold, his knobby ankles visible below the cuff of his pants.

“Eddie,” Bev sighed, turning him around so he faced her. Her bright eyes were stern, her nude lips drooping in a frown. “You look handsome.”

Beverly was wearing a thin silky dress that was the color of plums. Her earrings were dangly, silver glittering gems resting against her neck.

“Thanks, Bev,” he whispered, not convinced.

His heart flapped around in his chest when he thought about what Richie was wearing; what he looked like in a nice suit with his hair combed back and his eyes large behind the sleek black frames of his glasses.

He found himself in the mirror again. Bev came up behind him, wrapping her arms around his middle and resting her chin on his shoulder. Eddie placed his hands over hers.

“You’re thinking about your mom,” she said, looking at him in the mirror.

Eddie’s heart skipped wildly along his ribs.

He thought he’d hidden it pretty well. Maybe it was the nosebleed he suffered from- they only happened when his anxiety was especially aggressive- this morning. Or maybe it was the way he kept pacing back and forth, glancing around as if we were expecting someone to barge and catch him in the act of doing something vulgar.

“I- I haven’t told her,” he confessed, “about the wedding or about Richie and me.”

“Good,” Bev cheered, swaying them sideways, “she doesn’t deserve to see you happy. Today,” she spun him around so he was facing her, “is your very special day. You don’t need your wretched mother here ruining it for you.”

Eddie laughed quietly.

Beverly knew more than anyone what it was like having an abusive parent. Thought Bev's was worse, in ways Eddie could never imagine, both her father and his mother did irreversible damaged to them. It would take years before either of them could move on from their parents' hold over them.

“I love you,” Eddie told her.

“I know you do,” she cupped the side of his face, rubbing a thumb under his eye.

Eddie drew her into a hug, one arm around her shoulder, his face smothered by her long sandstone locks. They stayed like for a moment, until a knock on the door pulled them apart.

Mike popped his head in, his smile brilliant and white.

“Eddie,” he gleamed, his arms spread wide beckoning him into a hug, “you look great.”

“Thanks, Mikey,” his cheeks warm with color.

Mike folded him into a tight embrace, rocking them from side to side.

“I told you,” Bev said smugly, “you look like a total stud.”

“Yeah you do,” Mike agreed.

“Ok,” Eddie laughed, “I get it, thank you, guys.”

He ducked away to straighten his suit for the twentieth time.

“I can’t believe you’re letting me walk you down the aisle,” Mike said in genuine disbelief.

Eddie turned to look at him, confused.

“Why?”

“I just thought,” he tried to reason, “that you’d want Bill or Stan to.”

"Just because I’ve known them longer?” Eddie asked, trying to catch Mike’s eyes since he wasn’t looking at him.

“Well, yeah. They’re your best friends,” he stated.

“You’re my best friend too,” Eddie explained to him without missing a beat.

“But they’re your- you’ve just known them longer, that's all.”

“So?”

“I just thought you’d prefer one of them to give you away on your wedding day,” Mike confessed. Eddie looked to Bev, who shrugged her shoulders.

Eddie remembered standing on the back of Mike’s bike, arms raised in the air feeling the wind cut through his fingers. It was different than riding on the back of Bill’s bike. Bill was fast and reckless, speeding down hills and flying over the asphalt. Stan thought it was too dangerous to have two people on a bike at once and Ben always had Beverly on the back of his. Back then, Eddie had been too afraid to sit so close to Richie, though he longed to wrap his arms around his waist to feel his heartbeat under his fingertips.

He remembered riding in the basket of Mike’s bike once, though he can’t remember why since it was so small. He remembered feeling safe and protected with Mike by his side. He loved all the Losers equally- his love for Richie sitting differently in his heart- but he and Mike had grown closer over the years in a way that was uniquely different from the others.

“Mike,” Eddie began, “I can have more than one best friend.”

“I know that,” he said.

“Then why are you shocked that I chose you- one of my best friends- to walk me down the aisle?”

The last thing Eddie expected was for Mike to start crying.

“Mike-” Bev jumped to his side, rubbing his shoulders.

Eddie didn’t know how he was supposed to react. Was he crying because he didn’t know how to tell him that he didn’t want to walk him down the aisle? Was he crying because- what if he was trying to tell him that he didn’t want the responsibility?

“I’m sorry,” Eddie heard himself say, “I should have- it’s ok if you don’t want to.”

“What?” Mike’s head snapped up and his brows pinched together. “No- Eddie, these are _happy_ tears. I’m crying because I’m happy.”

He stalked over to Eddie and grabbed his face.

“These,” he said, shaking Eddie slightly, “are tears of pure joy. I couldn’t be happier knowing that you chose _me_.”

“Ok,” Eddie whispered, not sure how to handle the tight band snapping around his chest.

“I know you didn’t have a father growing up,” Mike responded, “and for you to think of me- wanting _me_ to be the one to give you away- fills me with so much joy I can’t begin to describe it.”

“I- you’re welcome?” Eddie laughed around a small hiccup.

Mike wrapped in another hug, engulfing him.

“I know this is a very heartfelt moment,” Bev spoke up, standing to the side, “but we really should be going.”

“Oh shit,” Eddie glanced at his watch in a hurry, wiping at his teary eyes, "um yeah."

“Now,” Mike extended his elbow to Eddie, his smile radiating from ear to ear, “shall we?”

* * *

“Richie, sweetheart,” Maggie Tozier sighed, “please stop with the gang signs. Put your hands down, for just one photo, I’m begging you.”

“Jesus mom, take away all the fun would ya?” Richie was standing under the arch, waiting for the ceremony to begin.

Thing was, if Richie wasn’t moving around he was pretty sure he would burst out of clothes in a mess of jittering nerves.

His mom had out her stupid Musket camera and was probably taking horrible pictures of Richie as he posed dramatically.

She was wearing a cream-colored dress and brown sandals. Her greying hair was tied up in a neat bun, a small flower weaved into her hair. She was stunning under the summer sun and Richie had never wanted her to fuss over him more than he did then.

His mom jogged up to him, fussing over the front of his jacket.

“Mom,” Richie sighed, “you do know we have professional photographers, right?”

“Yes,” she noted, “but I can go get these developed tomorrow. Plus the photographer probably charges a fortune for extra prints. I want my own so I can hang them up in the office. It’ll look so sweet, Richie.”

“Whateva, just make me look good. I can’t afford to look fat in my wedding pictures,” Richie replied.

“Stay here," she warned.

Maggie snuck up on Wentworth Tozier, tapping him repeatedly on the shoulder. Went was twisted around in his seat. He was having a very animated conversation with Jeff, one of Richie’s friends from his comedy club. Richie thought he had a promising career ahead of him.

“Went, darling,” she pressed, “get up. Come here. Go stand next to Richie, get in there I want a picture with the two of you. _Go_.”

Wentworth Tozier was tall. He had the same nose as Richie and the same mouth, but his face was thinner, his features more elongated. His glasses were light, unlike Richie's coke bottle lenses.

“Funny seeing you here,” Richie said as his father approached.

Went eyed him over the top of glasses that were pushed down the bridge of his nose.

“Is this not the Dentist Conference,” he asked, squinting at Richie.

“No sir, I’m afraid not,” Richie informed with a disappointing sigh.

“Ah,” he shook his finger, “I thought it looked a little too fancy. They usually just set us up in the janitor’s closet.”

“Will you too please stop it,” Maggie begged, “and pose for my picture. The lighting’s perfect.”

“You hear that son,” he chuckled, “the lighting's _perfect_.”

His father pulled him close against his side and smiled wide for the camera.

“I’m happy for you,” his father whispered in his ear, squeezing his shoulder. "Couldn't be more proud."

Richie’s heart sailed.

For as long as Richie could remember, all he ever wanted was to make his parents proud. Thirteen-year-old Richie surely couldn't have known that marrying his best friend would be the dealbreaker.

“Thank you,” his mother breathed, “Richie you look very handsome, I appreciate you standing still.”

Richie saluted his mother.

“Do I look handsome?” his father asked, leaning closer to Maggie.

“Of course you do,” Maggie said, patting the side of his face.

Went kissed the back of her knuckles. Richie watched them, his heart saturated with joy, knowing that one day somewhere in the future that would be him and Eddie.

Richie saw a flash of red out of the corner of his eyes. Beverly came waltzing down the aisle, her dress bunched in her hands so she didn’t trip.

She walked up the steps, kissing him on the cheek.

“Are you ready?” she inquired.

“Not one bit,” Richie told her honestly.

“You’ll be fine,” Bev reassured, “but a warning, Eddie looks smoking hot, so try not to jump him in front of the guests.”

Richie looked down at his suit. It was tan- or as Bev called it, eggshell- and slightly textured. His shoes were emerald green with gold details. He wasn't sure if he looked stylish or not but he trusted Bev's fashion sense. He couldn't even begin to think about what Eddie looked like.

"Good luck," she cheered, and then she took her place beside Richie.

Richie’s heartbeat was deafening.

Everything happened in a blur, the music reaching him as if he was underwater tumbling through  
the waves.

Bill and Stan came first standing in front of Richie. Bill gave Richie a thumbs up- what a dork- and Stan nodded at him like the old man that he was, but his eyes were sparkling. Ben came next and Richie had to watch Beverly’s reaction as she twisted sideways, eyes following him every step of the way.

Then, it was like the world slowed down; thick and sluggish.

He saw Mike, tall and lively with Eddie gripping his arm. Eddie’s face was flushed red, his eyes roaming over the faces as they turned to watch him. When he locked eyes with Eddie, Richie felt like he’d been sucked punched.

Eddie was beautiful. His gingerbread hair and freckled face was all Richie could see. The blue of his suit was sharp, like a beacon drawing Richie closer. Mike offered Eddie to Richie and took his place behind Ben.

“Hi,” Eddied glowed, taking Richie’s hand and squeezing them tightly.

“Hi,” Richie sniffled, trying not to cry.

Ben squeezed Richie’s shoulder in support.

They never took their eyes off each other.

Bev officiated the wedding, and a beautiful job she did. When Eddie and Richie said I do- kissing each other with feverish intent- the pressure of their vows set in. First, though, they slipped on their wedding bands, silver and polished under the sun.

Richie said his vows first.

“Uh- jeez,” Richie laughed, bowing his head before regaining himself. “Eddie, you’re- you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I knew since we were kids that you were the one for me. You dared me to eat a cricket once at recess and I did it, not because you dared me to but your face was lit up like a Christmas tree and I thought, wow I want to be the reason he looks like that- I want to see his face do that every day. I just want to make you happy; I want to be the reason you're happy. There are no words to describe how much love I have for you. I wake up every day and it feels like our souls become more entangled and I never want to pull away. I promise to fight for you, always. I promise to love you unconditionally for the rest of my life and I can’t wait to call you mine.”

When it was Eddie's turn, he just stood there, gawking at Richie. Richie shifted from side to side, suddenly unsure of himself.

“Are you serious?” Eddie squawked. “I can’t read my vows.”

The guests started murmuring, confused. Richie was sure as fuck that he was about to pass out.

“Eds-”

“My vows are-" he looked embarrassed. "Richie my vows are _so_ stupid,” he whispered. His face was burning up.

 _Oh_. The guests started smiling. Richie knew neither of them were particularly good with words, but it was adorable seeing the anxious look on Eddie's face.

“No, no,” Richie urged, grinning, “go ahead. Let the people here what you have to say.”

Eddie glared at him but unfolded his paper, fingers shaking.

“You’re my best friend,” he started, looking flustered. “I promise to keep reminding you that McDonald’s is unhealthy because I want you to live a long and healthy life. I promise I’ll be there for you when you can’t reach the remote from across the room, even if I wasn’t the one who placed it so far away. I promise that I’ll always stay immature and I promise never to take myself too seriously and I promise to eat grilled cheese for breakfast with you even if it’s not actually a breakfast food. Richie," he looked up, his eyes shiny with tears, "I promise that I will choose you every day, a million times over, not because I have to, but because I want to.”

Richie kissed Eddie, the cheering behind them loud and joyous as it washed over them like the waves.

* * *

Reality set in when they rode back to their villa.

In the back of the travel cart, they sat shoulder to shoulder, hands clasped between them.

When they slipped their key card into the door, Eddie pulled Richie close, kissing him firmly on the lips.

“Hey,” Eddie started, “you’re _my_ husband.”

Richie set their bags down, laughing as he cupped Eddie's face in both hands, staring down at him.

"God," he breathed, "I can't wait to tell the whole fucking world."

That set them off. They shed their clothes, throwing them haphazardly around the room; careless and light on their feet.

Richie grabbed the lube and a condom from his bag, lifting Eddie with one arm around his waist. Eddie gasped, wrapping his legs around Richie’s waist as they tumbled towards the bed.

Richie deposited Eddie on the bed, hovering over him. Eddie thrust into empty air, whimpering. Already he was desperate to get as close to Richie as possible.

Eddie reached up and drew him into a kiss, frantic.

“I want you in my mouth,” Eddie panted, hands traveling all over his body, his touch electric.

They maneuvered around until Eddie was on his stomach between Richie’s legs. Richie lifted one foot over Eddie’s back to give him better access. Eddie kissed the head of his cock and Richie’s hips jumped forward. He rolled his hips into Eddie’s mouth, the tight wet heat intoxicating.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Richie sighed. He grabbed Eddie’s shoulder with one hand, fisting the sheets in the other.

He rolled his hips forward, careful not to push too deep. But Eddie encouraged Richie to go deep, swallowing loudly. He took as much of Richie as he could before he had to surface for air. His mouth was cherry red, shiny with spit. That sight alone nearly forced Richie off the edge.

“Come here. Come here,” he yanked Eddie to his side, easily sliding his tongue in his mouth, kissing him sloppily. He groaned as he tasted himself on Eddie’s tongue.

“What do you want?” Richie asked, urgent.

“Hold me down,” Eddie breathed, his eyes wide and bold.

Richie flipped their position so Eddie was lying underneath him. He grabbed a handful of Eddie’s hair and yanked his head back, licking into his mouth. Eddie whined, rubbing his erection against Richie’s stomach, trying to seek some sort of friction.

Richie grabbed Eddie's wrists in one hand and pinned them down above his head as he kissed him open-mouthed and wet.

He reached over for the lube, slicking his fingers with one hand. Eddie’s legs widened around Richie’s hips, his cock flushed full; red and shiny with precome.

Richie traced his rim with his index finger watching as Eddie’s hips shifted, his abs tensing. He crooked his fingers as he slid in. He gave Eddie time to adjust, his chin dropping to his chest to try and watch Richie’s finger as he worked him open. Richie drew back slowly before adding another finger and before he knew there were three fingers spreading him open.

Eddie began rolling his hips to try and force Richie deeper and then he was fucking himself on Richie’s fingers, crying out when he scissored him open. His head fell back against the pillows, chest heaving.

Suddenly Richie was drawing away and Eddie whined at the emptiness.

“Rich?”

Richie leaned down and kissed the inside of his knee.

“I wanna try something,” he said, reaching over to the dresser.

He was sitting on his knees and produced a dildo. Eddie’s heart fluttered.

"Where the fuck did that come from?" Eddie gasped.

"Uh," he stumbled over his words, "it was a gift, from one of my buddies."

His cheeks flared with color.

It was a black silicon toy. It was smooth and somewhat realistic, but nowhere near as thick as Richie.

“You can say no,” Richie rushed, “but I thought you’d maybe want to- spice things up.”

Eddie felt himself nod, wild with arousal.

“Yeah?”

“Hell yeah,” he huffed. He was feeling brave.

Richie placed Eddie’s legs over his thighs so he could watch. His eyes flicked down between Eddie’s legs and then back up to his face, searching for any discomfort. Eddie shoved his hands under the pillow, gasping and shaking as he felt himself stretch around the toy.

It was an utter shock to him when the toy started to hum. Eddie choked on his breath, shuddering all over as the buzzing tore through him.

“ _Fuuuck_ , Richie,” Eddie cried, jackknifing off the bed as the intensity of the toy overcame him.

Richie angled the toy and rubbed it against the bundles of nerves inside of Eddie that had him sobbing, tears in the corner of his eyes.

Eddie’s hand shot out to hold onto Richie’s wrist.

“Stop,” he sobbed, “Rich- _fuuckk_ \- ah. You- you gotta stop ‘m gonna come.”

Richie pulled the toy out, careful of Eddie’s sensitivity.

“Are you ok?” Richie asked, nervous.

“Yes,” Eddie didn’t hesitate, “I don’t wanna come until your inside of me.”

Richie grunted, dragging him forward. He quickly rolled on a condom. Eddie’s eyes followed the movement, his stomach flooded with heat.

Eddie ended up with his ass in Richie’s lap and his back flat on the bed. Richie lined up and with hardly any pressure he sank in, watching the head of his cock disappear into Eddie. Every brain cell in Richie’s mind told him he had to focus on watching it. Eddie reached down to grab hold of Richie’s wrists where they were holding on to his hips.

He breathed, adjusting to the too-good stretch and fullness that was Richie. The position didn’t give Eddie much room to thrust down on Richie’s cock, so he had to lay there and take what he could get.

Richie was relentless, yanking Eddie down onto his cock again and again; biting bruises into his hips as he held him in place.

Eddie groaned in the back of his throat, legs trembling and limbs aching. Another sharp thrust had him crying out weakly. His thighs felt like they were on fire, Richie’s cock hitting his prostate with every other thrust.

Eddie looked up and saw Richie’s glasses were fogged, sweat dripping from his hair. Eddie couldn’t help but smirk. His breathless laughter quickly turned into a helpless moan as Richie thrust hit particularly deep.

Suddenly, Richie flipped them over and before Eddie could register what was happening he was sliding back into him in one smooth motion.

“ _Ah_ \- fuck,” Eddie cried.

“I’m about to dirty ice this cake, Eds,” Richie grunted.

Eddie laughed around a high pitched moan. Just because he could, he clenched down around him, and Richie made a sound like he had been shot, boosting Eddie’s ego. Richie took a break from his fast hard thrusts and fucked Eddie in slow rhythmic motions.

That only lasted a few minutes.

When he realized Eddie was humping the pillow below him, seeking his own release, Richie went back to fucking him hard and fast.

Eddie braced himself and was pushing back against Richie with every thrust, desperation taking over.

Richie barely touched Eddie’s cock and he was coming, ribbons of white staining the sheets below him. Eddie sent a silent apology to the cleaning crew.

Soon after, Richie curled forward his glasses digging into Eddie’s spine where he pressed his face into his sweaty back. His hands spasmed around his hips and he jerked forward one last time, everything below his waist going liquid and molten hot.

“Fuck,” Richie sighed.

Eddie couldn’t move, his limbs felt like slush.

Eventually, Richie pulled out, disposing of the condom.

Eddie lied there in his mess, knowing if he didn't get up and move he'd stick to the sheets. Thankfully he didn't have to.

Richie came back, carefully cleaning him up with a cool washcloth. He turned Eddie over, his eyes heavy as his eyes roamed over Eddie's body.

“Stop staring at me you perv,” Eddie laughed, kicking him playfully in the arm.

Richie caught his leg, leaning down to kiss the bone of his ankle before setting it down on the mattress. He crawled over him, kissing him softly on the lips.

“I hope you didn’t mind the camera,” Richie said out of nowhere.

“You did not,” Eddie startled, sitting up to look around the room. “Richie?”

“Hey,” he said, shrugging a shoulder, “if you can find it, the tape's all yours.”

Eddie threw a pillow at him, shoving it over his face. Before he knew it they were wrestling, and all Richie could do was twist sideways as Eddie's fingers glided over his sides, relentless.

“Ok!” Richie shrieked. “Ok! I surrender- I _surrender_ I swear, please stop you’re going to make me pee, Eds!”

“Eat shit, Richie,” he yelled, smacking him over the head with a pillow, “there’s no camera, you asshole.”

“I confess,” Richie laughed, “but I can’t believe you fell for that.”

Eddie straddled him, threatening to hit him with a pillow, again.

“Hey,” Richie threw up his hands, “I confessed the truth, there’s no camera.”

“There better not be,” he said but he was smiling.

He flopped ontop of Richie.

“Ooof,” he grunted, “Jesus you’re heavy as fuck Eds, jeez.”

“Shut up,” he snapped, “‘m not heavy, you’re heavy.”

Eddie fell silent, wrapping his arms around Richie’s neck.

“‘M gonna fall asleep,” he whispered, “I love you...G'night,” he said sleepily.

 _God_. Richie was so in love. 

Richie's breath caught in his throat and he knew he'd be crying all day tomorrow at the realization that Eddie _fucking_ Kaspbrak was his husband.

Richie rolled them under the sheets, his knees fitting behind Eddie’s like a puzzle piece and they fell asleep, the waves roaring outside their window as the night flowed into a brand new day.


	4. What the Fuck is Going on?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie saw red; waxy balloons that appeared out of nowhere. He saw a number of black and white faces tacked up on light poles and taped to storefront windows. Images ran like a reel behind his eyes. He tried to grab them as they shuffled by but they came and went before he could make any sense of them.

Eddie was strong. Eddie was _so_ strong.

He’d just have to try really hard to prove it in the upcoming week.

He sent Richie a private message that he had made it safely to Bangor while he was sitting in his rental car, obviously stalling. Then, he sent a message to the group chat asking that they wish him good luck. He silenced his phone out of habit, tucking into the cup holder.

Eddie hated driving at night. With how much he drove around for his business, he thought he’d be immune to any kind of reserves when it came to driving. Driving was a nightmare in general. Throw in New York drivers and traffic and that alone could manifest into a stomach ulcer from all the stress.

He fiddled with the radio, trying to find a station that played music good enough to serve as a distraction. He wished he had brought an Aux cord with him. Richie had created some of the best playlists on their Spotify that bled nostalgia.

When the “Welcome to Derry” sign flashed under his headlights, Eddie nearly slammed on the breaks. A powerful surge of emotions filled the car, nearly suffocating him.

Everything happened so fast.

Eddie saw red; waxy balloons that appeared out of nowhere. He saw a number of black and white faces tacked up on light poles and taped to storefront windows. Images ran like a reel behind his eyes. He tried to grab them as they shuffled by but they came and went before he could make any sense of them.

He tried to blink away the filmy residue in his eyes. As he kept driving, his foot never let up as he sped down the black asphalt.

A sharp pain shot through his right arm and he nearly lost control of the wheel.

Suddenly the radio shrieked and the car filled with static.

“What-”

Then silence sliced through the noise. All Eddie could hear was the tires burning down the road and the deafening sound of his heart beating in his ears.

“ _Eddie-bear_?”

His heart literally stopped beating.

“No,” Eddie choked. “No _fucking_ way.”

Eddie beat wildly at the radio with his fist, not even looking at the road anymore.

“ _Eddie! Eddie-bear_ ,” his mother’s voice whined to him through the white noise.

He grabbed his phone, smashing into the radio with all the force he had.

“ _Eddie_ ,” his mother’s voice cracked through the broken speakers. But there behind her cries was another voice.

“ _Where are you going, Eds_?” That voice-

“No fucking way!”

Memories crashed over Eddie like a tsunami. In the summer of ‘89, sewers overrun with the haunted screams of dead children, Henry fucking Bowers and his murderous gang. Falling through the floors of the Neilbolt house; his arm snapping like a twig, his small voice screaming _do not fucking touch me_!

“ _Are you coming to visit? Mommy dearest has been so lonely without you, Eds_.”

Range poured over him, like a cloudburst sudden and violent as it washed over him. It filled him with uncontrollable anger.

“Fuck! _You_!” He beat the radio until his hands felt like they would shatter from the force of the blows. “Fuck _you_!”

A sudden tapping made him jump out of his skin.

The world came sliding back into focus.

Eddie wasn’t driving anymore. In fact, it wasn’t even night time.

He was parked outside the pharmacy.

It was day time.

The radio was emitting hushed tunes, no static or creepy voices crawling from the speakers.

The tapping continued. His eyes flew to the noise. Someone was standing outside his car door.

Not just anyone. Memories of sixth grade edged their way forward. Sitting in the back of Mrs. Wilson’s classroom, Richie throwing balled-up notes at his desk and missing. Mrs. Wilson picked them up, her face scarlet red with anger as she gawked at Richie’s lewd drawings. Eddie sitting shoulder to shoulder with Richie outside the principal's office, refusing to talk. Shame consuming him as his mother dragged him away.

“Eddie Kaspbrak!” Mrs. Wilson squealed. Then she just stood there, items cradled in one arm, a smile plastered to her face; eyes wide and unblinking.

“I’m losing my fucking mind,” Eddie whispered.

He rolled down the window and immediately Mrs. Wilson shoved herself into his space.

She looked almost exactly the same, except there were more obvious wrinkles under her eyes and her hair was all silver and grey but she still had it tied up neatly in a bun held together by two pencils. She still had the same slender nose and prominent cupids bow. Her brown eyes were speckled with yellow, an odd unusual feature.

“Your mother told me you’d be back in town! I’m so sorry to hear she’s sick!” She couldn’t stop shouting it seemed.

“Uh, yes. I’m-I’m here to help get her settled,” Eddie informed her. He wasn’t sure how much his mother had told her. Eddie suddenly remembered Mrs. Wilson and his mother hating each other.

Mrs. Wilson because she thought Sonia’s hold over her son was setting him back and Sonia because she though Mrs. Wilson was a noisy bitch. Eddie couldn't imagine how their paths would have crossed and why his mother would have felt compelled to tell her anything about her condition.

“Oh aren’t you the _sweetest_ ,” she praised. Then she was leaning into the car to pinch his cheeks.

“You always were just the kindest young man.”

“Uh,” she was still pinching his cheek. He had to lean back and pry her stubby fingers off. “Thank you?”

She stood, half inside and half outside the car. She couldn’t stop staring.

What the fuck was going on?

Her eyes snapped to his hand where it was clutching the steering wheel.

His wedding band glittered in the sun.

“I always knew you and that Tozier boy would get married,” she said.

Eddie’s heart leaped in his throat.

When Eddie looked up at her, her smile was like a cut out glued to a face that wasn't originally smiling.

“I have to go,” Eddie found himself saying.

For a moment she just stood there. Her creepy smile twitched as if it hurt her.

Then, something clicked like she was snapped back into her body.

“Have a nice day dear,” she said cheerily.

Eddie was frozen in his seat. He watched her retreat in the rearview mirror. She was walking with an aggressive limp. Then she passed a trash can and dumped the small cluster of grocery items she was holding into the trash can before she disappeared out of sight.

Eddie sat in the car for a long time before his limbs softened enough for him to move.

_What the fuck was going on?_


	5. Mommy Dearest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie pushed through his pain and army crawled across the floor as fast as he could. He reached a coffee table in the center of the living room. He swiped a picture frame off the table and slammed it against the ground until the glass shattered under the impact. He gripped the largest shard in his hand, ready to fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: violence, descriptions of illness, blood & gore, major character injury, minor character death

When Eddie drove up to his mother’s house his shirt was soaked through with sweat, he was visibly shaking, and he had suffered yet another nosebleed.

The front of his grey t-shirt had splotches of red down the front and he had nothing to clean it up with and he couldn't be bothered to go rummaging through his suitcase for a clean one.

He maneuvered the rearview mirror so he could get a better look at himself. There were dark circles under his eyes, the skin producing little violet and indigo spider webs. His hair was an absolute mess and no matter how hard he tried to force his hair into place it never stuck. The freckles across his nose were dark and prominent because a deep blush had spread across his face.

He felt like he was feverish and sick but he knew it was the near panic attack he’d been suffering through and not an actual disease that was coursing through him.

He couldn’t let his mother see him like this.

Why though? When had she ever made an effort to even see him? Three times over the last twenty-seven years, maybe? Phone calls didn't count.

He stretched his arms out against the steering wheel, feeling his shoulders release some pressure. He couldn't let her control him. She would get a week of his time and that was it. He’d help her settle in and get her finances and will in order and then he was out of here.

Something started buzzing in the cupholder.

He snatched his phone. _My Person_ lit up the screen with Richie’s goofy half blurry smile staring at Eddie. He almost ignored the call, but last-minute his sweaty fingers swiped to answer.

“ _I thought you said you’d call me when you got there_ ,” Richie's voice, though clearly irritated, put out the fire raging inside of his head. 

Eddie had to take a moment to collect himself. He rested his head back against the headrest and took several large deep breaths.

“ _Eddie_?”

“I’m losing my fucking mind,” Eddie started.

“ _Whoa, hey_ -”

“I never should have fucking come here, this town is a fucking nightmare.”

“ _Eddie_ -”

“Do you remember when I broke my arm?”

“What? _What are you talking about_?”

“I fell through the fucking ceiling of the- the fucking Neibolt house, Rich! What were we even doing there? That place was _totally_ fucking haunted.” He sat up suddenly, unable to stop the flow of words. “Do you remember Betty? Uh- fuck what was her last name? Betty- Betty Ripson! She went missing and literally nobody even talked about it except her mom. And why were we so scared of balloons? And why am I remembering all this now? It's like the fucking time warp shit you and Mike are always talking about, Richie-”

“ _Eddie, babe, you need to take a deep breath_.”

“I’m literally losing my mind, aren't I? I legit beat up the radio in my rental because I thought it was talking to me.” Eddie couldn’t help the manic laugh that escaped him. “Then- then I lost over eight hours of time. Eight hours, Rich! Can you believe that? I think I had a panic attack. I think I had a panic attack while I was driving. Which is beyond dangerous. I could have crashed and gotten hurt, or worse I could have hurt someone else. One minute it was dark and then- bam!- it was light again. I think-”

“ _I’m coming to get you_ ,” Richie informed him.

 _Shit_. _Fuck_. That was the exact reason why Eddie didn’t call him earlier. It wasn’t Richie’s job to pick up his babbling mess of a brain. Richie was supposed to be relaxing, enjoying his much needed time away from Eddie. Hell, even Eddie wanted to spend less time with Eddie.

“What? ‘M fine,” Eddie mumbled.

“ _You’re clearly_ not _fine_ ,” Richie argued. “ _You obviously just suffered a major panic attack, Eddie._ _You’re talking absolute nonsense. You never broke your fucking arm. Don't you think we’d all_ _remember that? And you’re talking about some random girl I’ve never even heard of who probably_ _ran away from home because she was bored. It was the nineties, everyone went missing back_ _then_."

“I’m not making it up,” Eddie gritted through clenched teeth. “And I said I’m fine.”

“ _You’re not fine_!” Eddie could hear Richie take a deep breath, collecting himself. “ _Look, I can book a flight and be there by tomorrow morning, and then you can come home with me. We can figure this stuff out with your mom when you’re better. She has an in-home nurse that can take care of her while we sort things out. She'll be fine_.”

“No,” Eddie stood his ground. “No, Richie. I said I’m fine I don’t need you flying out here to coddle me like I’m a fucking baby. I’m a grown-ass man!” That last part didn’t come out as convincingly as he had hoped.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Richie huffed. “ _Why is it so hard for you to let me take care of you_?”

“Because that’s _all_ you do! Everyday! Ever since we were kids all you’ve ever done is take care of me and I’m tired of being a burden to you.”

“ _Eddie, you idiot_ ,” Richie nearly hissed. “ _When has anyone been able to make me do something I_ _didn’t already want to do? I said I wanted to come to_ you _, not Eddie wants_ me _to go to_ him _. I want_ _to take care of you_.”

“I-” Eddie felt like his mouth was full of fluff.

“ _Let me take care of you_ ,” Richie whispered desperately.

“No,” Eddied repeated but he was quick to clarify. “I mean- look I love you too much to subject you to this. This town is shit and my mom is crazy and you don’t deserve how she’d treat you. I just- I just need to take a deep breath and I’ll be fine, I swear. This is something I need to do on my own. I’ll call you every few hours to let you know how I’m doing and if I have another panic attack I promise that I’ll let you know and then we can figure it out.”

“ _Eddie_ -”

“Richie, please just trust me,” Eddie pleaded. “I can do this.”

“ _I know you can, Eds. You’re the strongest moutherfucker I know. You can face anything. I just- I don’t want you facing this shit alone_.”

“But I’m not alone, I have you.”

There was a long pause before Richie spoke again.

“ _Promise you’ll take care of yourself. Promise me_.”

“Scouts honor,” Eddie promised. “Now you know I’ll keep that promise because my soul would be damned for all eternity otherwise.”

Richie laughed quietly, sniffling.

“Richie?”

“ _Hmm_?”

Eddie smiled into his phone. “I love you.”

“ _I know_.”

“One day I’m going to take care of you so good you won’t know what hit you.”

“ _Oh yeah_?” Richie teased.

“Hell yeah,” Eddie laughed.

Eddie sat in silence for a few moments, his chest loosening up.

“ _I guess I’ll let you go, then_.”

“Yeah...I’ll talk to you later?”

“ _Of course_ ,” Richie confirmed. “ _I love you_.”

“I love you too.”

Eddie didn’t bother with his suitcases, deciding to leave them locked in the car as he made his way towards the house. His limbs were heavy as he climbed the steps of the porch. His arm felt like it weighed eighty pounds as he lifted it to knock on the krosswood front door.

He was surprised his mother had chosen such a nice house. He knew she had money saved, living frugally throughout his childhood and rarely spending the money she inherited from her father and she never spent the insurance money from his father’s death either. She had been receiving some money for disability since her health had declined. But this house was much more prestigious than any house Eddie had expected.

Maybe she wanted to spend her last days in a welcoming warm environment. Eddie couldn't blame her for that.

Eddie was thoroughly surprised when a woman opened the door. For a few seconds, he thought he was staring at his mother, her small mouth and oval face and stern eyes. Then he saw the hair, shiny blonde and cut short around her chin with swooping bangs. Plus, she appeared to be closer to Eddie’s age than his mother’s.

“Mr. Kaspbrak?” She asked, straight to the point.

Eddie could see more of her as she held the door open. She was wearing a nursing uniform, a small name tag clipped to her breast pocket. Eddie got a glimpse of her name. Myra.

“Uh, Eddie is fine,” he offered unsure if he should shake her hand. He decided to stuff them in his back pockets in fear of being rejected.

She sized him up, looking him up and down. Eddie felt the need to cover up.

“You have blood on your shirt,” she pointed out.

Eddie knew that but nonetheless looked down, disappointed at the mess.

“Oh, yeah,” he tried to laugh it off, “just a bloody nose. You should see the other guy.”

Eddie was pretty sure he heard crickets chirping somewhere in the background. Myra's face remained sober.

She turned her back and Eddie was left to scramble after her.

Inside, the house was immaculate; beautifully furnished, and styled with an unobtrusive scent to it.

“Can you take your shoes off, please?” Myra asked looking pointedly at his grimy Vans.

They looked disgusting against the polished carob wooden floors. He felt extremely self-conscious about taking off his shoes in front of Myra. He was wearing Richie’s socks. They were bright red socks with the poop emoji printed all over them and the saying “ _fuck this shit_ ” printed in bold white letters.

He toed off his shoes, balancing on the wall so he didn’t topple over and embarrass himself even more.

Myra stared at his socks, unimpressed. Eddie stood there like a child about to be scorned for hiding a porno magazine under his bed.

“Your mother’s in the kitchen,” she informed him flatly.

Myra reached the dining area first and he could hear their hushed voices but couldn’t make out any of the words.

“Eddie-bear?” His mother cried with exaggerated joy.

Eddie experienced a full-body shudder. He thought of being in the car, the jet black night creeping in as her mother’s voice spoke through the static of the radio. But that wasn’t real. That wasn’t real. Here, his mother’s voice drifting through the house- that was real.

“Eddie, sweetie! Eddie come in here and let me see you.”

Eddie slid into the kitchen, the smell of onions and garlic stung his nose.

Nothing could have prepared Eddie for what he saw.

His mother was seated in a wheelchair that was pushed into a round table, her large body squished against the makeshift workplace. Her skin was the color of oysters and appeared thin as parchment paper. Her tawny hair was thinning, loose strands falling haphazardly around her sickly face. Her hands were swollen but she still wore several dangly turquoise bracelets, suffocating her wrists.

Her eyes were deep-set, her round glasses seemingly large on her frail-looking face.

There was an oxygen tank in a chair across from her. The oxygen mask was sitting on the table next to the cutting board. She was in the middle of cutting up vegetables.

Myra was standing, her back towards them as she fussed over whatever was cooking on the stove.

“Shouldn’t you be wearing that,” Eddie asked, pointing to the discarded masks.

“Eddie!” she shrieked making Eddie jump. “You’re bleeding.”

“Oh. No, Ma it’s- it’s nothing. It’s just from a nosebleed.”

“Come here. Come here Eddie let me see you.”

He awkwardly shuffled over to his mother. She reached up and pulled his face down so she could feel his temperature. She rested her cheek against his forehead, her skin clammy and damp. Her fingers dug into his cheek as she moved his face around, examining him. He nearly sighed in relief when she let him go, afraid she was about to stick her fingers in his mouth, telling him to open wide.

“How long has it been happening?”

“Ma,” he groaned. “I get them sometimes when I’m stressed, it’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal,” she huffed. “So healthy young men just get nosebleeds and suddenly it’s not a big deal?”

“Ma-”

“Have you at least seen a doctor about it?”

“Yes,” Eddie assured, “and he said it’s normal.”

Myra scoffed from the stove. His mother didn’t seem to notice, but Eddie couldn't help himself from glaring at the back of her head.

“You should see Dr. Green, he’s a wonderful primary care physician. He can give you proper advice on what to do, unlike that doctor of yours. Any doctor who tells you a nosebleed is not a big deal should be fired. Especially knowing how fragile you are. He should be-”

“I’m going to go get my stuff from the car,” Eddie interjected.

“Oh.” She didn’t seem too happy about being cut off mid-ranting. “Myra can offer you a hand. You must have packed quite a lot.”

“No,” Eddie declined, “thanks. I can manage.”

The way his mother offered Myra to him like that made his skin crawl. All he could think about when he was lugging his suitcases through the front door was what his mother’s reaction would be when she finally noticed his wedding ring. That might upset her, but finding out _who_ he was married to would probably be the thing that killed her.

A horrible side of Eddie thought, _well she’s dying anyway_. The voice in his head sounded a lot like Richie’s.

He decided to change out his blood-stained shirt. He rummaged through his neatly folded pile of shirts right there in the living room and quickly slipped into a plain white t-shirt.

Myra cleared her throat from the end of the living room.

Eddie’s arm was halfway in his shirt when he turned to face her. He saw her eyes trail down the lean expanse of his stomach. He shoved himself into the shirt with more urgency, heat spreading across his face.

She cleared her throat again. “Dinner is ready. You should probably wash up.”

An odd thought surfaced. What would life have been like if he had stayed here in Derry? Would he have been brave enough to come out? Technically he still hadn't, at least not to his mother. Would he have let his mother parade him around as the poster child she thought he was? Would he have ended up with someone like Myra; cold and controlling like his own mother? That last thought sent shivers down his spine. He was suddenly afraid of those thoughts. He had a perfect life, with Richie and the Losers. His job was great. Richie was great. _Life_ was great. 

He hated it here already. Being in this big luxury house made him feel weirdly afraid. All he wanted to do was get back in his car and drive straight back to Richie, to the home that they had built together, away from Derry. 

God, he had only been here fifteen minutes and things were already turning south.

He’d probably die of embarrassment or frustration before the week was over.

The dinner table was set up nicely. It was weird having Myra occupy a space so intimate because he knew nothing about her. And she didn’t seem to take kindly to Eddie at all.

She was seated at one end of the table, a steaming bowl of some sort of stew placed neatly in front of her. His seat was set up across from his mother, of course. His mother took a puff of air from her mask, before setting it down on a skillfully folded napkin.

Eddie took his seat, afraid to speak in case the conversation spiraled out of his control.

He reached across the table to take a roll among the stack of buttered goods. Suddenly, his mother’s hand reached across the table, grabbing his wrist with surprising strength. She yanked his arm so hard he had to use his free hand to help stop his ribs from being crushed against the round edge of the table.

“Ma-”

“Eddie,” she cried. She twisted his hand, revealing the radiant shine of his wedding ring. Her grip on his wrist sent pins and needles through his hand. He tried to pull away but she wrenched him forward, nearly pulling him out of his seat.

“You’re hurting me, Ma,” Eddie blurted.

His mother’s face was cherry red and he practically saw the steam coming out of her ears.

“Sonia,” Myra’s voice cut through the tension. She placed a hand on her shoulder.

His mother let him go. Eddie inspected his wrist. It was red and sore, and he could see the indentions of her nails fresh on the surface.

“How long have you been- how long?” she sneered. “And when were you going to tell me?”

 _Que the nosebleed_ , Eddie thought.

“Can we not talk about this, please.” His eyes pleaded with his mother.

Having Myra there definitely didn’t make things any easier.

“Myra is part of this family now, Eddie,” his mother insisted. "You can say anything in front of her."

Eddie looked to Myra who seemed just as offended at Eddie’s secret proposal as his mother was. Great. He thought his mother hated nurses.

“It's not- I'm married,” Eddie blurted out.

"I can see that," his mother scoffed. 

"Can we please talk about this in private?" Eddie begged, his chest feeling tight. 

His mother’s eyes grew furious. Well, there was no turning back now.

“Eddie,” his mother said with caution as if the truth could cause more damage. Which was undoubtedly the truth. “How long?”

Eddie felt a lump of guilt in his throat.

“Eighteen years,” he said.

“I want to see her,” his mother bellowed. She held out her hand as if Eddie could magically conjure up a picture for this non-existent wife for her to see. “Give me your phone, Eddie. I’m sure you have a picture of her somewhere on there. Let me see her, Eddie.”

“No,” he snapped.

Eddie thought her face couldn't get any redder.

“No?”

“No,” Eddie repeated.

“Why have I never met her? Why didn’t you invite me to your wedding? I wasn’t sick back then, why did you keep me away?”

“Because-”

Say it, Eddie. Tell her the truth. He doesn’t deserve to be a secret.

“Do you remember Richie Tozier?”

His mother’s face shifted from anger to absolute fury. Ah, there it was.

“That sleazy boy? The one who dragged you along with him to that filthy house where you broke your arm? You were so fragile he didn’t know how to treat you. He-”

It was true, Eddie thought. The smell of the Neilbolt house resurfaced, and then the memory of cradling his limp arm. He remembered being surrounded by Richie and then Bev’s hand clutching his shirt. Screaming and yelling; an intense fear crashing into them.

“Richie’s not sleazy, Ma. Richie’s- Richie is perfect. Richie is considerate and kind and loving. Richie took care of me when I  
broke my arm,” Eddie found himself confessing. “Richie’s- Richie’s my husband.”

He waited for his mother’s head to explode but she just stared at him blankly.

Instead, his mother choked on a laugh. She laughed again, hysterical and crazed. She kept laughing until her body was shaking.

Eddie was paralyzed. He looked to Myra but found her seat empty. Whatever was in her bowl was bubbling and popping. Eddie glanced down at his stew and bile rose in his throat. A human eye rolled around the thickening liquid. He jumped back, nearly falling over in his seat.

His mother was suddenly standing up. She reached behind herself and began pulling the skin from the back of her head forward.

“Holy _fucking_ shit!” Eddie screamed, gripping his chair in fear.

She shed her skin like a winter coat, revealing a grotesque thin creature beneath. It was a fucking leper.

Its' nose was missing, its' face drooping and sagging with boils and puss. Drool dripped from its mouth. It hunched forward, staggering towards Eddie gurgling and gasping for air.

It offered him a red pill, pinched between his thumb and pointer finger.

Eddie sprung from his seat and bolted. He ran out of the kitchen, screaming as he looked over his shoulder.

He ran right into a solid force, shrieking in fear.

“Eddie!”

It was Mrs. Wilson. She was shaking him by the shoulders trying to get his attention.

 _Why the fuck was she here_?

“Eddie, dear what’s wrong?”

“We have to go,” Eddie yelled. “We have to get out of here, right _now_.”

He tried to dart past her, but she grabbed him. Eddie glanced down at her fingers circling his wrist in a tightening grip.

“But you just got here,” she said.

Eddie’s blood froze over. He tried to pull free, but her hold on him was unrelenting.

She pulled him closer, pressing him against her body, nearly crushing him. She licked the side of his face, her tongue rough and slimy. Eddie gagged, trying to pull away.

“You smell like fear,” she whispered. “I bet you'll taste so sweet.”

Eddie heard himself whimper.

She leaned in again, sniffing him.

Eddie didn’t even think about his next move. Instead, he let his actions play out on their own. He drew his knee back and rammed it into her upper thigh, remembering her limp at the pharmacy.

It didn’t hurt her as he’d hoped, but it loosened her hold on him just enough for him to slip out.

He ran towards the door, but black tar-like fluids came seeping out of the bottom of the door, crackling with fire.

He dashed up the stairs running towards the bathroom, the door open like welcoming arms at the end of the hall. He shut himself in.

“Eddie! Come out and play Eddie,” Mrs. Wilson’s voice morphed with a more sinister one, dark and rumbling.

He walked backward, his breathing loud and harsh. His heels hit the back of the tub and he went flying back, dragging the shower curtain down with him as he tried to grab it for support. When he hit the bottom of the tub, it was soft and squishy instead of hard.

It was his mother’s body that broke his fall.

She was dead. Her skin a lurid grey. Her eyes were glazed over, staring wide open. Her chest was covered in blood.

The noise Eddie made didn’t sound human. He sobbed, his throat clogged with the onset of tears. He flew out of the tub, muffling his cries in his hand, a horrible powerful grief tearing through him.

He couldn’t even think straight. He fled the bathroom, eyes on the stairs.

Mrs. Wilson jumped in front of him, grabbing him by the throat and throwing him down the stairs. Eddie tumbled, trying to protect himself as he rolled hard over the steps. He rolled off the last step, groaning in pain. He tried to get up or crawl, but pain shot through his ribs.

Something grabbed him by his ankle and tried to drag him back up the stairs. Eddie grabbed the railing and twisted around, kicking Mrs. Wilson in the face. A loud crunch echoed through the air and she doubled back, groaning in anger.

Eddie pushed through his pain and army crawled across the floor as fast as he could. He reached a coffee table in the center of the living room. He swiped a picture frame off the table and slammed it against the ground until the glass shattered under the impact. He gripped the largest shard in his hand, ready to fight.

He pulled himself up with wobbly arms.

He could hear footsteps stomping towards him. Mrs. Wilson appeared, her face splattered with blood. She looked like a lunatic.

She lunged for Eddie and they fell to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Eddie drew his hand up, ready to strike but she caught his hand and slammed it to the ground over and over again until the pain of the glass cutting into his palm forced the weapon loose.

“It wants to taste you,” she moaned in his ear. She caught his other hand as he tried to hit her; anything to save him time. “It's missed you so much.”

She snatched the fallen piece of glass, licking the blood off. Her eyes fluttered and a groan vibrated through her.

“Your fear will give him all the energy he needs to feast again.”

She stabbed Eddie in the abdomen.

At first, Eddie felt only the impact and then the pressure. Then, something like a severe electrical shock surged through him accompanied by an intense wave of heat. Without warning, she pulled out the glass and drove it back in.

Eddie whimpered, his free hand clutching the wound. Warm blood flowed between his fingers.

Mrs. Wilson laughed above him. She laughed and laughed and-

He saw his opportunity.

Eddie didn’t even think before he seized the glass, yanking it out.

She continued to chortle away.

Eddie plunged the knife into her chest. She fell quiet, staring at the glass protruding from her in awe.

Eddie kept stabbing her.

At some point Eddie gained leverage, tackling her to the ground. He stabbed her over and over until her wheezing fell quiet.

Eddie slumped over her, hand clutching his abdomen. He stayed there a moment, catching his breath. Eventually, he rolled off of her, stumbling to his feet.

He made it to the front door, staggering down the front steps to his car.

When he turned around, the ruins of the Neibolt house- sagging and spine-chilling- stared back at him.

Then the world slowly went dark, like black ink dropping into water


	6. Blood Oath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He clutched his hand to his chest, trying to stretch out his fingers. The pain swelled and grew. He gasped, staring down at his open palm. His fingers were shaking horribly.
> 
> An uneven scar cut through his palm, gleaming like spilled red wine on a white rug.

Mike Hanlon sat in his cottage nestled against the beachfront; the aromatic smell of the ocean drifting in through the gaping doors of the back porch.

He wrote down some notes on one of his students' thesis papers, circling details he thought were insightful and underlying the ones that weren’t as well thought out. He absently scratched his leg with the tip of his pen.

Enjoying the warm air during summer meant opening his home to a number of mosquitoes. He didn't mind really, because the evening weather was too nice to lockout.

He continued reading, his eyes drifting over the words carefully. He itched his leg through the thin layer of his shorts unaware that he had flipped his pen and was scribbling lines over the fabric.

His naked back was being kissed by the sun. If it wasn’t for the swarm of mosquitoes outside he would have probably been grading papers out on the porch.

He needed his pen to jot down another comment and continued itching his thigh with the tip of his fingernail, really hassling the bug bite.

That’s when he looked down and saw the pen marks smeared across his shorts.

“Shit,” he sighed. Those were his favorite shorts.

He abandoned his work, placing a paperweight on the stack of essays so they didn’t go flying away. The paperweight was a small smooth stone with a bare butt painted on, a gift from Richie when Mike was first hired at the Florida Keys Community College in the African American Studies department.

He grabbed a towel hanging from the dishwasher. He stood over the sink, running it under cold water.

Suddenly, his left hand throbbed painfully. It was dull at first, then it surged to the tips of his fingers and it felt like he had touched a flaming stove.

Mike drew back with a hiss, inspecting his hand. The scar on his left palm pulsed, glowing red.

* * *

In the house on the edge of Peachtree Hill, Stanley Uris stood shoulder to shoulder with his wife.

They were cutting up various green vegetables, humming along to _My Girl_ by the _Temptations_.

Patty playfully bumped her hip against his. He smiled softly at the cutting board, tapping his hip against hers, throwing her off balance. She laughed softly and swatted at him with her towel before she turned towards the sink.

As Patty rinsed and dried some cauliflower, and then handed some to Stanley so he could begin to chop them up.

His hand jerked, an abrupt flicker of pain shooting through his left hand. He drew back with a hiss, clutching his hand.

“Stanley?”

Suddenly, Patty was there, turning his hand over to see what was wrong.

His hand was trembling.

They stared at the angry red slash across his palm. The blood drained from his face, his palm swelling with heat as the scar flashed a deep red.

* * *

Beverly Marsh dashed around backstage, her hair like fresh marmalade under the harsh studio lights.

She made her way through the throng of people, pinning up dresses and straightening fabric; fluffing up the model's hair and switching out boring lipsticks for more bold ones.

When the lights flickered on and off, signaling the start of the show, Beverly ushered the models into place. Her headset flooded with voices, but she hardly paid attention to what was being said.

She stared after her models, their bodies shimmering and twinkling as they sauntered down the runway.

A secretary tapped her on the shoulder, offering her a Fiji water bottle.

“Thank you,” she breathed smiling softly.

She took a swing, nearly choking as her left hand cramped with pain. She dropped her water bottle, holding her wrist steadily as pain prickled up her arm.

“Ms. Marsh?” Emily, her secretary, approached. She looked down at Beverly’s palm, covering her tiny gasp with a hand.

Beverly’s breath became frayed.

She stared the currant laceration on her left palm gleaming with a brilliant afterglow.

* * *

Ben Hanscom excused himself, taking a sip of ice-cold water; condensation wetting his fingertips.

He swiped his hand across the front of his suit jacket, regaining his train of thought.

Before he could continue his pitch, a strange feeling washed over him.

Ben buckled over the long glass table, bracing a hand against its clear surface.

His investors stared at him with quizzical expressions.

Ben’s chest heaved as pain flared through his left palm.

He gaped at the enraged scar. First, it was the color of a deep flush, then it fluttered under the skin as if it was trying to break free.

“Mr. Hanscom?” David Tennant asked, leaning over in his chair so he could stare at Ben’s open palm.

Ben hissed in pain, his palm throbbing. The scar flared red, like fresh blood spilling from an open wound.

* * *

Bill Denbrough stood under the scalding heat of the shower in his west London Airbnb in Wembley Park.

He rubbed furiously at his hair, watching the grime and sweat of the day swirl down the drain.

His thoughts wandered. He thought of going home, falling into bed with Mike; happy and pleased.

He thought of the Losers upcoming weekend getaway and of the overwhelming outcome of his new book release. He thought of the beaming smiles on his fans' faces as they bounced up and down, waiting in line for William Denbrough to sign their copy of _Red Ball_. He thought of-

“Fuck,” he sucked in a rattling breath.

He blinked away the droplets of water falling into his eyes. He quickly shut off the water, stumbling towards the mirror. He swiped a hand over the fogged mirror, his reflection looking dumbfounded.

He braced himself against the sink, pain radiating from his left hand all the way up into his shoulder. He flexed his hand, revealing a jagged merlot scar running across his palm.

All at once, the scar bloomed a bloody luminous red.

* * *

Richie’s face was pressed against the elastic surface of the couch, his right arm smooshed uncomfortably underneath him. His left hand was raised, finger repeatedly changing the channel.

He eventually gave up, tossing the control on the floor, his eyes staring disinterestedly at a rerun of _Criminal Minds_.

He stifled a yawn and reached across towards the coffee table to grab his glass of water. He had to stretch a little, too lazy to actually sit up and grab it like a normal human would.

He wiggled his fingers, trying to coax it forward. He hooked his fingers over the rim and then- too late dumbass- the glass toppled over spilling down his wrist and all over the rug.

“Ah, fuck,” Richie groaned.

He sat up slowly, hunched over. He flicked his wrist, trying to air dry it. Getting up to grab some paper towels was a waste of his energy.

He picked up the glass and suddenly his left hand seized with pain.

“Fuck,” Richie cried.

He clutched his hand to his chest, trying to stretch out his fingers. The pain swelled and grew. He gasped, staring down at his open palm. His fingers were shaking horribly.

An uneven scar cut through his palm, gleaming like spilled red wine on a white rug.

His breathing quickened as the pain spread like a hot knife over the skin.

Something terribly dawned on him, plowing into him like a semi-truck.

“Eddie,” he wheezed except it wasn’t just his voice, but five other startling familiar voices that joined in with him.


	7. No Longer Afraid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie was hanging upside down from a beam of wood, his hair wild with strands of hay littering his curls. He had a bag of Skittles dangling from his hand, shoveling some into his mouth and chewing them obnoxiously.
> 
> “You are so not funny!” Eddie screeched. “That’s fucking gross Richie, I swear!”
> 
> “Hey,” Richie quipped, unbothered, “I just tell it how it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: blood, homophobic language, violence

The very first thing Eddie became aware of was the absence of pain. Then he was aware of the presence of color surging across his vision.

Eddie saw cerulean skies, smooth and clear. But there were no clouds, no shining sun or chirping birds soaring through the air; black wings fanned out wide as the wind sliced through their feathers.

Eddie saw wood beneath his fingers, cinnamon brown and glossy. A rocking chair.

The rest of the room came into focus. The same blue sky morphed into four walls that housed him in. He noticed the pearl white furnisher that was stuck into the corners; a dresser and a changing table. This was a baby's room.

He saw a figure materialize, slim shoulders and waist just like Eddie’s own. The back of his head had neatly combed hair, like dark cedar and shiny. The man turned slightly, a baby swaddled in an ivory blanket, burrowed in the crook of his elbow.

It was his father, he realized. Eddie remembered an angular face and a sharp nose with the same slanted brows as Eddie’s. He couldn't see his father's face, but the memory of images viewed when he was young resurfaced. The baby in his arms was him, he concluded.

“I wish I could have remembered this,” Eddie heard himself say from the rocking chair. It would have been nice to have a memory of his father that was his own.

His father didn’t look up, smoothing a finger over baby Eddie’s little forehead.

“It’s impossible to remember a memory that never existed.”

Eddie stared at his father, a wave of grief washing over him. He had longed his whole life to know him, to see him as he was and not how other people painted him to be.

He remembered growing up and clinging to Mike’s father, his amiable eyes focused on Eddie- sometimes only Eddie- whenever he came storming into the Hanlon house. When Will Hanlon was shoved towards death’s door, Eddie was ambushed with dread and worry; it devoured him. He remembered becoming an absolute nightmare of a person in the few years that followed, sheltering himself from the others. Even hiding from Mike which was so unfair because it was his father- not Eddie’s- and he should have been there for him.

Then Will had emerged on the other side, alive and well and Eddie felt like he could breathe again but the overwhelming anxiety never left him. When Richie’s dad smiled at him over dinner Eddie felt like he'd explode with the intensity of another father giving him even an ounce of attention.

Weaving his way into Mike’s parents' life was a mistake and he couldn't let it happen again. So, he treated Richie’s father like a strange adult smiling at him from the end of the grocery aisle. 

Eddie just realized he had always treated Went Tozier like that, afraid of getting too close to him especially as he aged.

Ben didn’t have a father for Eddie to adhere to and Beverly’s father made him want to throw up battery acid. Bill’s dad was too stern and cold and Stan’s father made him feel small and insignificant.

Eddie realized he hadn’t thought much of it in a long time. A very long time. His mind felt like it had been split wide open and memories and emotions came gushing out.

“This feels like a memory,” Eddie said confused. He wanted to get up and stand next to his father, make him look at him. Would he recognize Eddie? Did a parent automatically know their child even as they aged and spent decades apart?

“This is a false memory,” he informed. “Your mind creates memories all the time. Sometimes to protect you, other times to guide you.”

He leaned down and kissed baby Eddie’s cheek and adult Eddie felt the tender press of lips on his skin.

“So, if I created this memory that means I’m...you?”

“No,” he chuckled. He turned away and placed baby Eddie down in the crib. “I am a part of you, but not actually you. I’m just here to show you how to get back."

Eddie stared at him blankly. Get back where he wondered. “You’re sleeping.”

“So this is a dream then?”

“No,” he said again. He leaned forward, supporting himself on the rails of the crib. “You can always wake up from a dream. This you can’t wake up from. Something powerful has to help pull you back.”

“So something like a magical kiss? To wake me from my slumber? That’s something powerful.” He sounded like a child, but it was the only thing that was making sense. He craned his neck around to try and look at his baby self in the crib, slumbering away.

“Why haven’t I woken up yet?”

“That was only a kiss to remind you.”

“Of what?”

“Of why you have to go back to them.”

“To who?”

“You know who.”

He saw Richie’s face, like the blistering sun in the summer sky shining bright. Then he saw the others, flowing in and out; red hair, baby farm animals, a kippah on top of curly hair; a silver rocket for a bike.

“To my friends- my family? To Richie? Tell me how,” Eddie urged desperately, trying to jump from his chair only to find he was glued down. “I want to go back to them. I want to get back to them.”

“It’s not that easy,” his father admitted quietly.

“Why not?”

“You’ll need a lot of strength.”

“I’m strong.”

“I know. But you’ll need more strength than just your own.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re all connected," he said as if it was obvious what that meant.

The Losers. It had to be the Losers. Ben with his def hands and Bev with her resilience. Stan with his wisdom and Bill with his pilotage- and Mike and Richie. Richie most of all.

“How?”

“You don’t remember?”

“There’s a lot I’ve forgotten.”

“Look,” his father said.

Suddenly, the air shifted. The warmth of summer spread over his face. Grass sprouted beneath him where he was seated in the middle of a field, the yellow-green pasture brushing against his bare arms.

His father was standing above him, the sun washing him out so he was just a tall dark shadow. His arms were crossed over his chest.

Eddie followed his gaze.

He saw them, younger and oblivious to older Eddie’s presence. They were huddled in a circle, hands clasped together with blood dripping between their fingers. Stanley’s head was wrapped in gauze, a stark white reminder of the massive doom that lingered over them all. But Eddie couldn’t remember what it was. What doom?

A burst of images ran through his mind. He saw white gloves pressed to his face, teeth snapping at his unbroken arm; a porcelain face cracked and peeling.

Eddie remembered the concern that crashed over him as Bill slashed a line across his open hand.  
Something in his palm fluttered, like the frail beat of a heart. He remembered being so afraid back then of sickness and germs, of the blood spilling down his wrist and thinking- _aids, disease, amputation_ -

He couldn’t remember why they were cutting up their hands. The memory was right there, but every time he tried to grab it, it dissolved between his fingers.

“We were so small,” Eddie had to comment.

“Small but mighty. Remember that,” his father added.

“Why?”

“So you can use that power; use their strength.”

A memory flew by. The Losers in the sewers, yielding makeshift weapons, covered in grime and blood and fear. The memory was so vivid and sharp, the feeling of anxiety exploding through him like white-hot fireworks.

“How do I use their strength,” he asked, nearly breathless with the intensity of the moment, ”to get back?”

“Remember the ritual. Imagine it in your mind; how it felt, how it changed you. Then you’ll be able to draw it out of them; use it to guide you back.”

“Will it hurt them?” He couldn’t imagine hurting his friends for his own selfish reasons.

“Just for a moment,” his father confessed. “You have to find a way to connect to them, like a river connects to the ocean; bigger and more powerful. Otherwise, it won’t work.”

“And then what?”

“You have to be unafraid.”

“Unafraid?” Eddie peered at his father in question.

“You have to be unafraid. It will only come after you if It can smell your fear. You’re afraid, and It knows that. It’s waiting until your fear has peaked. If you’re not afraid, It will have nothing to feast on.”

 _It_ , Eddie thought. A flash of red; sharp teeth, yellow eyes. A gaping mouth filled with blinding light.

None of it made sense but he knew the dread that shuddered through him was a warning sign; a reminder of what was waiting for him when he found his real body again. Panic prickled in the back of his mind.

“But I’m not afraid.” It was true too. Here, sitting in the lurching fields of his childhood- the shadow of his father above him- he had nothing to fear.

“No matter where you go, there’s always something to be afraid of.”

The sky rumbled overhead and Eddie watched as the clouds rolled over and turned grey.

He looked up at his father, only to find himself lonesome. Even the younger version of Losers had disappeared, leaving Eddie deserted and completely alone.

Eddie walked through the empty streets of Derry, barren like a blank stare.

He stood in the center of shops, lining either side of him. Then, they started closing in on him.

Not like the metaphorical claustrophobia; overwhelming the senses. No, the stores literally started to move, gravel, and brick crumbling as they racked through the asphalt.

Eddie started to run.

Another memory. Sprinting down a track, the breeze carding through his hair. The memory fueled him; the feeling of his muscles stretching and bending, filled with heat. He ran faster.

The world tipped forward. For a moment he thought he had tripped and made to brace himself for the impact. But it wasn’t him. The world was being turned upside down and Eddie went tumbling, free-falling through the air without anything to hold on to.

Eddie went crashing down, plunging through fields of floating grass until he hit the ground with great impact. He was completely stunned, the pain temporarily stealing his breath.

It was the raucous sound of voices that drew his attention elsewhere. His voice.

He looked up and saw himself, just as young as he was in the fields during the ritual. Then he saw Mike, hovering over him with a newborn calf between his legs. Eddie was pacing back and forth, buzzing with anxiety.

“No! Mike, _no way_. I’m literally going to shit myself if you make me touch it. Mike! It’s literally covered in its mom’s vagina juice-”

“Eddie, you’re literally describing my sex with your mom last night,” Richie’s voice spoke over his, "that's so funny."

Richie was hanging upside down from a beam of wood, his hair wild with strands of hay littering his curls. He had a bag of Skittles dangling from his hand, shoveling some into his mouth and then chewing them obnoxiously.

“You are _so_ not funny!” Eddie screeched. “That’s fucking gross Richie, I swear!”

“Hey,” Richie quipped, unbothered, “I just tell it how it is.”

Mike, despite Eddie’s red face and deadly glare, laughed.

He only stopped when Eddie’s murderous eyes turned towards him instead. He cleared his throat, looking away with only a small apologetic offer. Eddie could see the corner of his mouth twitch.

“I’m not touching that fucking thing.”

He held his hand that was sheltered in the cast close to his chest. At that time, the cast was covered in various doodles from the Losers. There was barely any white that was visible. Eddie remembered his mom absolutely hating the sight of it, crying when she saw Richie's awfully drawn penis with the name "Dick" signed underneath it.

Eddie doesn’t remember being afraid of the calves at Mike’s farm. He had memories of cuddling them, rolling around in the hay with the others as they obsessed over their long lashes and rose pink noses.

That must have been before. Before he shed the anxieties surrounding bodily fluids. The being afraid of the calves definitely wasn’t a memory he brought with him, because it wasn’t a memory that would have served him any good. He hated seeing himself like that, nervous and twitching.

Did that mean the memories of smoothing his fingers over the soft fur of the newborn calves were false memories, created to protect him from himself? Or what about helping Mike bottle feed the lambs in the middle of the night when they had snuck outside, the cool summer air refreshing as it swept over them.

No. Those memories were real. He remembered them because he wasn’t afraid of them. Afraid.

Eddie was afraid. He was afraid of the calf, still sticky with salmon-colored fluids; fresh out of the womb. He was afraid because that’s what his mother had instilled in him, that any bodily fluid would infect him some way. What would happen if he did touch the calf? He feared the consequences.

Fear.

He drew closer to his younger self. Could he channel his fears from the past? Could he destroy them to help draw him out the monster’s hold over him; waiting for Eddie to cave from the other side?

“It won’t hurt you, Eddie,” Mike said, his voice annoyingly reassuring.

Eddie saw his younger self, hesitant as he backed out of his corner in the hut. He held his hands close to his chest and reached out and then pulled back.

Adult Eddie crouched down next to his younger self. He reached out, uncertain at first. Eddie was him. Would he feel his touch? Or would it feel like the ghost of a hand, guiding him?

Eddie placed his hand over the back of younger Eddie’s hand, guiding it forward. Younger Eddie closed his eyes, turning his head aside but his palm blossomed, uncurling under the calf’s chin; his fingertips smoothing over the side of its face.

“Holy _shit_ , Eds,” Richie bellowed.

Eddie’s eyes snapped open. A smile gleamed across his face. He looked from the calf to Mike and then to Richie.

“Holy shit!” he shrieked. A laugh bubbled out of him. “Mike, holy shit!”

“I told you it wouldn't hurt you,” Mike smiled, his voice smug.

“Yeah,” Eddie breathed, petting the top of the calf’s head. “But this is still nasty, ew, ew, ew. Ok, can I be done now? I definitely need to wash this off. Like I get it won’t hurt me but it’s slimy. Mike, why is it so slimy? _Ew_. Gross."

"Chill, Eddie," Richie piped as he jumped down. "If you can't handle a little slime, you'll never be able to please a woman."

Mike and Eddie both gagged. They both tried to ignore Richie.

Adult Eddie definitely didn't miss Richie's ridiculous attempts at appearing straight. 

Eddie couldn't take his eyes off his younger self. The fear that had glazed over his eyes was gone. Instead, his eyes shined like pennies, clear, and amazed.

“Here,” Mike came into view offering a water bottle.

He pulled at Eddie’s hand, and also on adult Eddie’s hand where it was still cupped under younger Eddie’s. Mike placed their hands on top of his own and poured the water over their palms.

As the water ran over their skin, Eddie could feel his left palm start to tingle. Then a pulse of heat spread up his arm. Despite the discomfort, he didn’t draw away.

Younger Eddie and Mike didn’t seem to notice and evidently couldn't feel the heat that was spreading underneath their own hands.

The water cooled his hand as it trickled down between their fingers.

“There,” Mike smiled.

“Michael,” Richie spoke, “you’re a true gentleman you know that? Helping a young man overcome his fears of- what did you call it Eds? Vagina juice?”

That sent him into a fit of laughter, wheezing and wiping tears from the corner of his eyes.

Mike and Eddie shared a look.

"I hate you. You've never once been funny do you realize that?" he heard young Eddie shout. He heard Richie shout too, probably because Eddie smacked him in the head for making fun of him. The three of them disappeared slowly, their voices drifting out of focus.

Eddie stared down at his hand, inspecting the light pink scar traveling through his palm watching as it glowed under the skin and flared a deep red.

Eddie staggered out of the barn, stumbling into a terrifying scene.

A younger version of Eddie- maybe eleven or twelve- was being held down. Sitting on top of him was Henry fucking Bowers.

“You fucking _faggot_ ,” he snarled. “I’m gonna kill you and your fucking fairy friends. You’ll be dead before you can embarrass me like that again.”

Eddie’s blood boiled when he heard that word. Memories just like this, big and small, flowed through him. He was well aware of why those memories had been buried, deep beyond his recollection.

Bowers was pressing him into the dirt, Eddie’s hands pinned under his legs. Above him, Bowers was cackling away as Eddie thrashed around, a sinister smile on his face. Eddie looked terrified, fearing for his life.

Fear.

Eddie’s breath caught in his throat, watching as Bowers’ fist went hammering down on his younger self's face. He punched Eddie right in the jaw. Younger Eddie’s head was flung to the side on impact, blood spewing from his mouth.

Adult Eddie was frozen in place, the fear from his younger self emulating around him. Fear.

Bowers then spit on Eddie, his deranged laughter filled the air.

Suddenly, adult Eddie found himself jumping forward. He fell in the dirt by his younger self’s side. He placed both hands on either side of his then bruised and swollen face. He forced him to look up at Bowers.

His younger self did look up, rage reflecting in his eyes.

Younger Eddie leaned forward- straining against the weight on top of him- and spit right back in Bowers’ face. Blood spattered over Bowers like a spray of water.

Out of nowhere, Richie came barreling into Bowers before he could strike again. He was screaming at the top of his lungs, tackling Bowers where they fell to the side in a tangle of limbs. Richie was able to jump to his feet, slinging his backpack around where he shook out the contents of his bag over Bowers’ head. A few textbooks came crashing down him and he raised his hands, but not fast as they smashed into his face.

Richie ran towards Eddie, hauling him to his feet and taking off without glancing back.

Then they were in the quarry, Richie kneeling by Eddie’s legs where he was seated on a boulder.

“Holy _fucking_ shit, Eds!”

Eddie cupped the side of his knee, the skin speckled violet and green where Bowers had shoved him down on the ground. He winced in pain when he poked at the raw skin.

“This is going to get infected,” Eddie grimaced.

Richie was knocked out of his haze of glorifying Eddie. His eyes were impossibly wide behind his glasses.

Richie went for Eddie’s discarded fanny pack, rummaging through it until he found a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide. He held it up to Eddie who hesitated, a grim look on his face.

“You shouldn’t be so close to my blood,” Eddie said quietly.

Richie looked up at him, seemingly offended at his words.

“Let me take care of you,” Richie said quietly, a whisper shared between only them.

Adult Eddie’s heart soared. How had he ever been afraid of this? Of loving Richie and Richie loving him back? There under Richie’s unwavering stare, was the most cathartic Eddie had ever felt.

He leaned over and clasped a hand over his younger self’s shoulder, an invisible gesture of support.

Richie’s hand covered Eddie’s where it was curled around his knee and he poured the disinfectant over the wound.

“Jesus Richie, not so much!”

“Shit! Sorry,” Richie flinched.

Even adult Eddie shuddered, remembering the feeling of the sting; bubbles sizzling and turning the skin white.

Eddie’s hand twitched, the skin on his left hand throbbed.

He took a step back, staring at the skin. The glowing from before was back but this time it was brighter and lasted longer.

This was their strength. Conquering their fears together.

Eddie remembered the intensity of them all being together. He remembered being there for Beverly, shielding her from bullies and then her father; supporting her like a second backbone. All of them, fighting antisemitism, racism- defeating Ben’s eating disorder and Bill’s embarrassment of his stutter and guilt as an older brother. He and Richie defeating the pressure of the small town closing in on them, telling them their love was appalling, and yet they came out on the other side victorious.

Eddie staggered back, the realization hitting him hard.

He spun through time, jumping into the rippling water at the quarry for the first time; gripping Bill’s hand because he’d let Bill drag him through anything. Then, creating paper mache lanterns- hands dipped in water and glue- with Ben the summer they were seventeen; talking about their fears of certain foods and wanting to be set free, living life without the restraints. And then Stanley and him, running away when they were fifteen for four days, living off the land and his survival skills; their hands cupping water from the stream, washing away the fears of growing up opposite of what their parents expected. Lastly, he happened upon him and Beverly. Beverly kissed him and he thought for a moment that he was conquering his fear of intimacy and then he hurled in a wastebasket. Beverly held his hand as he washed his mouth out with mouthwash. Then he sat there, filled with shame until he realized he didn’t want to be afraid of being intimate with someone. Then it dawned on him that what he really wanted was to kiss Richie that fall, unafraid of the consequences.

Suddenly, Eddie was falling. He was spinning through the dark until light spun around him and he was pushed back into a chair.

The familiar smell of potpourri filled his senses.

He was in his childhood house, sitting in front of the static television set, the house eerily quiet. Then, a noise from upstairs and-

“Eddie-bear!” his mother called. “Eddie-bear, it’s time to come home.”


	8. Missing Person

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stanley ran a bath and the darkness followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: violence

Richie was quivering and he was unable to control the jitters that shot through him. The glass of whiskey in his hand was shaking like an earthquake, amber liquid sloshing over the rim and dripping down his wrist.

“Richie, sweetheart,” Beverly’s soothing voice spoke from his computer, “you need to calm down.”

“She’s right,” Stanley jumped in. “You’re no good to Eddie if you aren't thinking calmy and rationaly.”

Richie couldn’t believe this shit.

“Fuck off, you guys,” he said harshly. He tipped back his drink, the spices burning his throat.

“Eddie’s missing! How the fuck am I supposed to remain calm.”

“We don’t know for sure that he’s missing,” Bill chimed in, his face pixelated in the corner of the screen but Richie could see the worried lines in his brow.

“He’s not answering his phone, you guys. That’s not like Eddie at all. He’s a fucking anal little bastard. He can’t have too many notifications on his phone at once without having a stroke. And you guys felt it- you guys fucking felt his energy. How can you not be losing your shit right now! Something’s wrong.”

“Look,” Ben started trying to ease Richie’s explosive energy, “I think we were all just having a moment, alright? We’re all stressed out about things going on right now. Beverly had her first show in Milan and Bill’s book tour in Europe just took off. Mikey’s working on his doctorate. Stan and Patty are expecting. This whole thing has a logical explanation, Richie.”

God, now was not the time to be the voice of reason.

“And what the fuck are you stressed about? You know your pitch will sell, you’re a fucking architectural genius. And that doesn’t explain why we all had the same fucking hallucination, or why Eddie isn’t answering his goddamn fucking phone!”

“Richie-” Stanley interjected.

“Listen-” Bill said.

“We need to be calm about-” Bev’s voice cut through the chaos and noise.

“I think Richie’s right,” Mike spoke for the first time since their call. He shifted around, staring intently. His eyes wandering over the screen.

Richie’s knees buckled. He pulled out a chair from the bar table and sank heavily into it.

“Thank fuck Michael here has the one working brain between the five of you,” Richie sighed, dropping his head into his arm to hide the fact that he was shaking. He looked down at his open palm, the scar pink, and tender.

“Mike,” Bill and Stanley warned at the same time.

Richie looked up and glared at them, cutting off their objections.

“No, listen alright?” he continued. “Richie was texting me earlier and he told me that Eddie was acting weird. He kept talking about having these memories- like vivid memories of things that he had no recollection of having before going back to Derry. He-”

“Ok,” Bill raised his voice over Mike’s, “now is not the time for you to indulge Richie on his ridiculous Derry conspiracy theories from when we were twelve, especially _if_ Eddie is missing.”

“Fuck off Bill,” Richie jabbed. “This isn’t about a conspiracy theory ok, something’s wrong.”

“So Derry being a- a time-warping void in the middle of Maine has nothing to do with this?”

“It has everything to do with this!” Richie yelled. “Eddie tried to tell me something was wrong and I- I made him think he was fucking crazy. And then our hands,” he showed them his palm, “fucking glowed in the dark right after Eddie told me about all the crazy shit that was happening to him-”

“Richie-” Bev whispered cautiously.

“I don’t care what you guys do, but I’m going to go find him,” Richie declared.

There was silence from all five of them. Bill looked apprehensive and Ben and Bev looked torn, not sure what to make of all this.

“I’m coming with you,” Stanley, of all people, announced. He held his chin up, confident he was doing the right thing.

Richie remembered growing up alongside Stanley Uris. He was always determined to hold Stan's attention- until one Eddie Kaspbrak came along- no matter the amount of foul-mouth jokes and tasteless insults he had to make to do so. Having him on his side was like gulping in a bunch of air after being under the water for too long- much needed and reassuring.

Richie already knew Mike would be on his side. Though they did tackle an entire library worth of books and research about the mysteries surrounding Derry- the findings vague and obsolete as the years went by- the ideas were never just open and close for them. From time to time they would get memories of curiously bizarre thoughts and they’d both wake up in the middle of the night, immediately reaching for their too bright phones in the dark to talk about it.

“So am I,” Mike joined. “Eddie could seriously be hurt.”

“If he’s hurt, don’t you think we should be calling the Derry police?” Bill questioned.

“Well, you can call the police if you want Billiam. But we’re going and you can come, or not come I don’t give a fuck.”

"Think for a second," Bill was saying. "Eddie does have a sick mother he’s taking care of. Maybe he doesn't need us barging in on him. Maybe he isn't answering because he taking care of his sick mother. Maybe we should be giving him some time."

“I already told you I don’t care what you do,” Richie said. The words felt wrong coming out of his mouth. He did care what Bill did and everything in him was screaming for Bill to believe him; to feel the danger that was hanging over all their heads.

“Mike?” Bill warned, clearly done with Richie.

“You guys can hash out the couples quarreling some other time,” Richie rudely interjected. “I’m going to find a flight that can get us there by the morning.”

“Richie-” Ben and Bev rushed but he wouldn't be deterred.

“If anyone else wants to come and help us save your life long best friend- from possible danger- let me know but I have shit to figure out,” he said and then slammed his laptop closed with unnecessary force.

* * *

Richie was storming through the house, his mind frantic and spinning wildly.

Then his phone rang a shrilling cry amidst the chaos.

Richie jumped across their bed, abandoning his packing to snatch his phone off the charger.

His heart pounded wildly. Eddie’s long lean face caught in the middle of a joyous laugh lit up his screen. He immediately answered.

“Jesus,” Richie seethed. “Why the hell haven’t you been answering your phone? I’m pretty sure you gave me a fucking stomach ulcer, Eds.”

Richie was met with silence. No sound, no breathing, no Eddie.

“Eddie?”

He glanced down at his phone. Then the screen glitched, streaks of crackling black overrunning the open call.

“What the fuck?”

Dark liquid spurted out of his phone. Richie jumped back, dropping his phone in shock.

He stared at it with alarm, the liquid spurting and sizzling as it spread. All of a sudden, something started rising and growing from his screen, shedding the greasy tar-like substance to reveal a lustrous red balloon.

Richie stumbled back, tripping over the edge of the bed. He crawled back, panic rushing over him.

The balloon rose slowly turning to reveal a message.

_Come Home_

_Come Home_

_Come Home_

The balloon popped, ear-splitting and explosive.

“Holy shit,” Richie breathed. “Holy shit.”

* * *

Stanley ran a bath and the darkness followed.

When he stepped into the tepid water it opened up around him like the gaping mouth of a beast.

It was strange, Stanley recalled. He couldn’t remember the last time he had taken a bath or if he ever preferred them over showers. But there was a weird feeling that hovered over him. A hand

seemed to be guiding him, pushing him towards the porcelain tub.

When he slid down, the water covering his mouth and chin, he thought of just sinking further down; letting the water wash over him.

Stanley seemed to snap back into his body like a rubber band. He tried to pull himself up but an invisible force yanked him back, dragging him under the water. The water turned grey like a shadow. Stanley thrashed around, unable to break free. Above him, a face emerged through the murky water.

It was a pale face with receding red hair, lines of russet red carved into the skin. It leaned over him, rippling in the water. A smile unfolded on Its' face, revealing pointed teeth slicked with drool.

Stanley could hear the muffled sound of jingling bells as It raised a gloved hand and offered a  
wave.

Then It opened Its' mouth, revealing the inside; rows and rows of dangerously sharp teeth.

Stanley screamed, water flooding the roof of his mouth. He frailed about, unable to resurface.

Suddenly Its hold on him broke and he jolted forward, gasping for air and coughing up water. He flung himself over the side of the tub, hitting the tiled floor with a hard splat. He tried to crawl towards the door; tried to shout for Patty to run but a hand grabbed him by the throat and hauled him to his feet.

He was dragged towards the mirror, revealing his panicked face, the scars on the side of his face glistening. And behind him-

Dead consumed him and an awakening broke through the surface of a twenty-seven-year-old fog.

It.

Memories played like a movie. Terrible memories.

He saw him and the Losers as they slipped through the soiled tunnels of the sewers, being chased by a murderous child-eating clown.

He remembered Bill hovering over him and telling him the haunted image from his father’s office wasn’t real.

Then the marigold flare of lights, throbbing in circles of three; revealing futures yet to happen.

It tightened Its' hand around his throat, pressing his back to Its' front. Stanley clawed at the hand around his throat.

It laughed, pulsating through the room.

“I’ve _missed_ you!” It whooped. It playfully pretended to take a bit out of him, snapping his teeth with a grin and a howl.

“You can’t...hurt me here,” Stanley heard himself croak. He wasn’t sure how he knew that, but the words tasted like veracity.

That seemed to upset him. He shook his head, bells jingling. Its' hold on him loosened just a bit.

“I just want to play,” It whined. “Why won’t you play with me?”

“Because you’re a monster,” Stanley wheezed. “And You’re not real.”

Stanley grabbed a soap dish from the counter-

“And I’m not afraid of you.”

-and propelled himself forward, smashing the mirror shards exploding over the sink.

Stanley slumped forward, released from Its’ hold. He struggled to breathe, the energy drained from him all at once.

He collapsed, the world fluttering closed around him.

* * *

Beverly felt a rush of energy; powerful and robust.

A shiver ran down her spine as the energy moved around her hotel, silent and oddly familiar.

Voices sang from within the walls, sonorous and insistent.

* * *

Ben’s lower stomach burned, the rugged and jagged H fluttering like a heartbeat. His hand went to  
lift his shirt.

The scar shifted and he saw the imprint of tiny hands trying to break free, stretching the skin taut.

Ben stared in horror, his stomach swooping with fear.

* * *

Bill’s sink overflowed with water.

The water poured onto the floor turning the color of dark clay. Floating on top, bobbing along with the outburst of water was a beige paper boat covered in wax.

* * *

Mike shoved books on lore regarding the paradoxes of time and space into his suitcase along with mismatched socks and worn-out t-shirts.

Outside his window, standing like statues among the sand- the waves crashing with roaring intensity- was a row of burnt and charred bodies, their glowing eyes flickering like the fire orange center of a flame.

* * *

Back in Derry, It moved through the sewers, weak and ravenous.

Eddie Kaspbrak floated high above Its’ head, his fear flickering like the weak flame of a dying  
candle.

Twenty-seven years ago, It woke from Its’ slumber, gorging on the absolute terror that was unfledged fear. Then, for the first time since his miraculous existence, the horror of the unknown was turned against It.

Seven children ripped their fears to shreds, becoming unafraid of It and Its’ brutal hold over Derry.

For the first time, It was afraid. The fear depleted his ardor, abating his power.

Fear.

Even after twenty-seven years of rest, Its’ energy had slackened.

The times had changed too. Children no longer roamed so freely. They weren't as naive and were more suspicious of dancing clowns.

If It could eat the fears of at least one of them, it would give It enough vitality to regain his omnipotence hold on Derry.

Trying to reach the others, from hundreds to thousands of miles away only drained him more. But It needed them.

If It could get them all together- It could already taste the promise of their fears- he could finally beat them.

It was so close, Its' mouth salivating at the thought of their tasty tasty fears.

It had one of the seven and It knew that would be enough to draw them out of their sweet oblivious lives.


	9. Welcome to the Losers' Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie hit something solid, his knee cracking against a jagged surface. He heard the snap of bones but couldn’t register the pain because the next thing he knew, milky blue light hit his eyes and the ground came slamming into focus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: blood & gore, graphic description of corpses, violence, major character injury

When Eddie was a child, he desperately wanted to be freed from his mother. He wanted to be able to shed the possessive hold that his mother had on him; her grievance over losing a husband manifesting into disquieted fear until it grew large enough to consume her. Eddie always thought it was unfair that he had to be subjected to her nonsense and irrational schemes and plots to keep him safe. Eddie didn’t deserve the fears and worries that hung over his head like a bad omen.

Sonia Kaspbrak didn’t deserve Eddie.

Eddie was a quiet honest kid and though he was small- no thanks to his mother’s obsession with clean eating only in regards to Eddie himself- and a bit of a firecracker he was a decent enough child that he never caused any problems. Well, until he met one Richie Tozier.

Even then, the teachers knew it wasn’t _solely_ Eddie who said and did problematic things during class time. Sometimes Eddie did instigate something that spiraled out of control but Richie would never let him take the fall for it. He knew Eddie’s mother's anger could be quick and brutal and Richie couldn't bear the thought of Eddie being grounded and not being able to see his face for more than a few days.

The fears that infected Sonia Kaspbrak infected Eddie. Eddie being afraid of his sexuality- that was Sonia Kaspbrak. Eddie fearing sex and intimacy and Richie’s fondness for him- Sonia Kaspbrak. Eddie being scared to eat certain foods- Sonia Kaspbrak.

Eddie refused to be dragged through his mother's soiled trail of dread and worry and- Fear.

Eddie sat in his childhood home, the house dark and lonely just like he remembered it being all those years ago.

His mother was yelling his name, loud and unpleasant.

 _Don’t be afraid,_ Eddie thought.

Across the room from where Eddie was- bound to an ancient leather chair that was peeling beneath his fingers- his mother came stomping down the stairs.

“Eddie!” his mother screeched, her voice falling in and out and changing from one octave to another as if she couldn’t figure out which voice to use.

“Ma!” Eddie called, unafraid of her looming figure. “Ma, I’m in here.”

“Eddie,” she cheered, stepping into the sliver of light that cut through the bottom of the stairs.

Sonia Kaspbrak had seen better days. She wobbled down the stairs, her body bloated and full of water. Eddie could hear it sloshing around inside of her. As more of her became visible, Eddie fought the urge to gag. One side of her face and neck was covered in boils, the skin brick red and oozing thick creamy puss. Half the skin on her lower jaw was missing, rows of rotting teeth visible and the muscles underneath inflamed and red with blood.

“Eddie-bear,” she sang but her voice sounded like she was gurgling his name, her mouth filled with water. "It's time to come home."

Eddie’s heart hammered wildly against his ribs.

“Ma,” Eddie said, steadying his voice. “Ma, I’m not coming home. I can’t stay.”

His mother turned her eyes on him, the iris of her eyes rolling around like a free-flowing object in a snowglobe. She floundered over to him, surprisingly quick on her feet, and threw herself down into an armchair across from Eddie.

“You won’t survive out there,” his mother said in her normal rhythmic voice. “You’re sick.”

“No, I’m not. I haven’t been sick- ever,” Eddie argued. “You can’t keep me here.”

“Oh, Eddie,” she soothed, “yes I can. I’m your mother.”

“My mother’s dead,” Eddie apprized.

“Eddie,” she sighed offended, “I’m right _here_. I’m here to love you and protect you.”

“You’re not real.”

“A mother’s love for her son is always real.”

“You’re. _Not_. Real,” Eddie snapped. “And I’m not afraid of you.”

She seemed extremely put off by that. Her head jerked to one side, the muscles on the clean side of her neck stretched taught. She shook her head again so fast her features became a blur but Eddie got a glimpse of white and red.

She looked back at Eddie, her face devoid of all emotions. Then, she tipped her head back, the skin wrinkling around her mouth and neck until it slipped down like a silk cloth revealing a gloved hand extending from her throat. Then another hand appeared, the fingers stretched wide. The hands pulled back the rest of the skin. Eddie saw ginger hair and a wide pale forehead; a red noise, deeply carved lines, and twisted smile with pointed teeth.

_It._

The name flashed like a warning sign in his mind. He saw himself, squeezing through a fence to try and escape Its’ ghastly horrid gaze. Then he saw the sewer as it spanned out into a massive underground cavern; bodies floating with empty stares and vacant minds.

“Hiya, Eds,” It gushed.

Eddie’s body was drenched in panic. His pulse beat against his throat and wrists like an unrelenting knock; wanting to break free.

It emerged fully, shedding his mother’s skin like a rumpled blanket. It grinned diabolically. Then, he dashed towards Eddie until he was leaning over him.

“Is this real enough for you?” It cried.

_Is this not real enough for you, Billy? It was real enough for Georgie._

Eddie leveled his gaze with It. Suddenly the panic ebbed away, replaced by animosity.

He saw little Georgie Denbrough, running circles around Bill when he was hanging out with the others; his laugh dulcet and sweet. Then he was gone, the Denbrough house haunted by the reminder of Georgie’s scant livelihood.

It all came pouring in, like a crack in a damn split to pieces.

Defeating It in the sewers, running after It with leper puke covering him head to toe. Screaming after Mike and Stan. Richie beating It with a bat. _Welcome to the Losers Club, asshole!_

“I’m not scared of you,” Eddie spat. The words tasted like sugar-coated candies on his tongue. Eddie felt a laugh claw its way up and then he couldn’t control it. Another laugh escaped, light and beautiful.

Eddie realized he was cornered inside Its’ delicately designed trap. Though he could drift in and out of his own memories and even visit the ghost of his dead father, this highly realistic world was _created_ by It. He had placed Eddie here to try and capture him amidst a fear-induced coma so It could feast on the confections of Eddie’s worst nightmares.

But Eddie wasn’t scared. If he was in Its’ architectural layout, that meant Eddie was able to play by the same rules.

It lunged forward, Its’ mouth cavernous and vast.

Eddie thought of a weapon, slim and sharp. He felt something solid and smooth take shape in the palm of his left hand. When the power fully took shape, Eddie lifted his hand- now free from Its’ figurative hold- and kicked It in the face.

It stumbled back, a slightly annoyed look on Its’ face.

“You’re just a _fucking_ clown,” Eddie snarled.

He leaped from his seat and brought the weapon- a steel fence post- up over his head before he struck It with a mighty blow. The edge of the spear went straight through Its’ mouth and down Its’ throat.

It staggered backward, twitching and convulsing. It spit up red hot liquid, thick like lava. It made a horrible howling noise that vibrated through the walls.

The walls themselves started to crumble around them, pictures and nicknacks falling to the floor and shattering to pieces.

Then, Eddie was sliding through the darkness. He went spiraling through a black velvet fog, random hands scratching and scraping in the dark, trying to pull him back. He heard the sound of petrified screams, his ears ringing with the defining cries for help.

Eddie hit something solid, his knee cracking against a jagged surface. He heard the snap of bones but couldn’t register the pain because the next thing he knew, milky blue light hit his eyes and the ground came slamming into focus.

He rolled down a discordant surface, his body hitting several large objects on his way down. Finally, he hit the ground with a sickening sound.

Eddie rolled to the side and a colossal mountain- toys, bikes, tattered clothes, basketballs- towered over him. Floating at the very top was a body, head turned towards the sapphire blue light that was slipping through the bars that caged him in.

Abruptly, the body went plunging through the air. It was falling straight towards Eddie.

Adrenaline kicked in and Eddie rolled to the side. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the pain reminded him it was still there but he refused to acknowledge it.

The body hit the ground with a wet squelch. It was Mrs. Wilson.

Her body was distorted into many awkward angles and her face looked like it had been mauled by a bear; ligaments and muscles were torn up, revealing the bones underneath. Realization crept in. I _did that to her_ , he thought. Her earrings glimmered, winking softly.

Bile rose in his throat and he couldn’t hold it at bay. He turned on his shoulder, throwing up mainly water and stomach acid. He heaved until he had nothing left to give.

Halfway on his side, Eddie became aware of the feverish discomfort in his abdomen and then the white-hot pain that shot up his leg.

Eddie slowly turned on his back and avoided looking at Mrs. Wilson’s face that was just a few feet away from him, her head turned towards Eddie in a deadly plea.

His hands were shaking terribly when he lifted his shirt, wincing as the fabric stuck to the dark crusted bits and pulled at his skin.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Eddie whimpered.

The stab wound was deep and still slightly shiny with blood. He moved his hip to the right and fresh blood trickled out. Eddie had to place his shirt over the wound, fear spiking deep in his gut. _Breathe,_ he told himself, _just breathe._ He couldn't afford to be afraid of anything.

He tried to sit up, but his abdomen and leg screamed at him with anguish. 

He struggled to peer down at his leg and the movement stirred his stomach with nervous energy. He laid back, trying to catch his breath.

Its’ disembodied voice echoed off the walls, sending painful shivers through Eddie.

“For twenty-seven years...I dreamt of you. I craved you. Oh, I’ve _missed_ you!”

“Fuck you,” Eddie gritted through clenched teeth. "I'm not scared of you!"

He fought through the wave of nausea as he forced himself to sit up.

He finally saw his leg.

His jeans were soaked through with blood near his knee and he could see that the skin was split open and the bone visible.

“Everybody’s scared of something,” It sang, delighted. “I can _feel_ your fear. I can _smell_ it. You can’t trick me. I've been inside your head.”

Eddie took a deep breath.

He thought of Richie. He thought of what it would be like to never see his dopey bucktooth smile ever again, never feeling his fingers run through his messy hair. He wanted to take his glasses off and clean them with the end of his shirt because Richie couldn't be bothered to do it on his own. He wanted to gaze up at him on stage as he told ridiculously funny jokes that had Eddie hysterical with laughter, unafraid of who would see him as he doubled over with tears in his eyes. He wanted to kiss him and make love to him and tell him that he missed him. He wanted to take care of him.

He wanted to visit Mike in Florida and feel the warm sun caress his face as they lounged on his porch. He wanted to complain about malaria and have Mike listen to him intently without judgment.

He wanted to visit Ben and Bev in their perfectly designed New Mexico villa, the stars twinkling above them; a fire raging in their endless space of a backyard.

He wanted to read all of Bill’s books, no matter how awful the critics claimed the ending was. He wanted to sit at Bill and Mike’s dinner table, throwing jabs at each other as it was a food fight; harmless and carefree. He wanted to visit Stan and Patty in the hospital. He wanted to witness Stan’s infinite smile and he wanted to hold their baby in his arms, loving the child of his best friend with all his heart.

Eddie pushed aside the pain, shoving it down deep where it could sit quietly as he bought himself time. He ripped the end of his shirt in a messy strip. He wished he had something to sterilize the fabric with but he had to push aside that thought because if he let it linger for too long he’d lose precious time.

He lifted his shirt again, grimacing. He balled up the fabric and took several deep breaths.

_One, two, three._

He stuffed the fabric in the wound like a corkscrew, biting back a whimper.

“Eddie?”

Eddie’s blood turned ice cold.

“Eddie?” Richie cried his voice far away.

No. No. No. _No._

“Fuck you!” Eddied cried. “Fuck you!”

Eddie scrambled. He took off his belt, hooking it under his knee and looping it over the gash in his leg. He tried to fasten it over the wound but pain tore through him so violently he thought he’d blackout from the sheer intensity of it. He nearly toppled over. 

He whimpered again, sagging forward.

“Eddie?” Richie pleaded.

Eddie suppressed a groan and tightened the belt until he heard the crush of bone click back into place. He bit the back of his hand to muffle the terrible scream that was ripped out of him. The pain was blinding. He fell to the side, landing hard on his elbow. He dug his finger through the dirt- scrapping pebbles- to try and ground himself. 

_I can't do it,_ he thought. _I can't, I can't-_

He was seconds away from passing out, slipping behind the black curtain. It only took him a moment to come to his senses, images whirling through his mind. He realized what was happening. Behind that curtain, Eddie saw a flash of white; crimson blood and an endless row of razor-sharp teeth.

 _Fuck that,_ he reminded himself. _I won't die like this. I won't die like this._

His fingers were trembling as he fought to create another hole in the tough leather so he could fasten it securely. His hands were slick with blood and sweat and he failed to make any effort. 

"Shit," he panted. " _Shit!"_

_Think. Take a deep breath and think._

He scrambled over to Mrs. Wilson, grabbing her by the shoulder so he could turn her on her side. He tore her earring out, staring at the sharp end with reverence.

He went back to his belt and weaved another hole through the leather so he could buckle the belt into place.

When he felt like he had done all he could, he pushed himself to his feet, his good leg quivering. It took a lot of him struggling just to stand upright, but fuck it, it felt great. He snatched a discarded baseball bat off the floor, clutching it in one hand while his other hand hovered over the wound on his abdomen.

“Eddie?” Richie called, this time not begging but furious.

Richie’s face came into view, sliding in front of Eddie and blocking him from moving forward. Eddie stumbled back, nearly falling over.

Richie's left cheek and eye were hallowed out, maggots squirming around inside.

Eddie felt like he couldn’t take in enough air.

Richie smiled, his teeth rotted black and green.

Eddie swung the bat, but Richie’s hand came out to prevent the blow. The pain in Eddie's abdomen caught him off guard and he nearly crumpled in Richie’s embrace. Richie grabbed the bat, yanking Eddie forward. He pressed their bodies together, holding the bat at arm's length away from Eddie. 

This Richie wasn't _his_ Richie, Eddie reminded himself. No way. 

“Kiss me, Eds,” the thing before him sneered.

 _It's not Richie_ , Eddie told himself. The stare was too distant and cold. His hold on Eddie was painful and Richie would _never_ harm Eddie.

If It was trying to install fear in him with this weird Richie zombie corpse, It had proved Itself to be quite dull and surely not all-knowing. 

Despite Eddie’s conscience screaming at him not to, Eddie leaned up and kissed zombie Richie. Zombie Richie was clearly startled by the bold move. His hold on Eddie relaxed.

Eddie shoved him back, with less strength than he’d hope for but it sent zombie Richie reeling back. Eddie grabbed the bat and smashed it over zombie Richie’s head, sending him to his knees. Eddie whacked him over the head again.

Breathless and alarmingly exhausted, he leaned down to stare zombie Richie in the face.

“Fuck off,” Eddie cautioned. “I’m not scared of you and I’m going to fucking _kill_ you once I get out of here.”

For good measures, he cracked zombie Richie over the head once again, which sent him flying backward.

Eddie didn’t bother to glance back. He ran- well more like hobbled- towards the open face of the sewer, chasing the sound of rushing water.

Its’ voice followed him, hollering after him. Eddie kept struggling forward, despite the increasing concern of his growing weakness.

He faltered through a tunnel, battling with the pain as it weighed him down. Suddenly, light cut across his vision, blinding him.

“Eddie?” Richie’s voice reached him. “Eddie!”

Not again. Eddie swung the bat, blindingly, his body weak.

“Whoa! Fuck, Eddie. Hey, hey!”

Eddie could see Richie's face being illuminated for a brief second before he was swallowed by darkness again, the flashing light drifting off somewhere else.

“You’re not fucking real,” Eddie gasped.

“Eddie,” Richie whispered, “it’s me. Eddie-”

“Bullshit,” Eddie laughed. “I’m not scared of you.”

“Eddie?” Mike’s voice drifted towards him.

 _No_ , Eddie silently begged. He couldn’t escape this. Not like this. Not with them here, both taunting him. He _couldn't._ He needed to get back. He needed-

Eddie started to cry, a terrible sob escaping. His pain hit him like a bullet, hacking through him. His knees gave out and he fell, water sloshing over him and drowning him in darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i used some direct quotes from the movie in this chapter


	10. 1994

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re- fuck,” Eddie breathed through his nose, “you’re- ah- really big.”
> 
> “I tried to tell you, no one ever believed me,” Richie gasped, his fingers curling around Eddie’s hips.
> 
> “Well- I definitely believe you now, Jesus,” Eddie sobbed as he slid down the length of Richie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: explicit sexual content

There was a time when Eddie was afraid of the thing he wanted most.

He feared Richie. He feared the way his eyes lingered on him for too long, the way his hands felt when he reached out- fingers curling around Eddie's bare calf- to steady them as they swayed in the hammock. He feared the way his body leaned too heavily into Richie during movie night, desperate to feel the heat of his body. He feared loving him; feared what the world would think of two boys falling in love. 

He told himself he would no longer let fear get in the way of what he wanted most. 

And Eddie _wanted_ Richie. He wanted him in every way possible. Near him, on him, inside him. He wanted to love Richie openly, the burning desire to be Richie's one and only scorching hot in the center of his chest. 

Eddie would have to be the most unafraid he had ever been in his life in order to get what he wanted. 

Eddie didn’t realize how badly he was shaking until the shakiness caused him to ram his knee into the side of his desk.

Pain prickled up his thigh and he had to lean over to muffle a groan in the notch of his elbow. He scrubbed a fist over the side of his knee, rubbing away the pain. He let his head thud against the desk, focusing on his breathing.

Eighteen. Eddie Kaspbrak was eighteen years old. All at once, it felt like a lifetime had passed in the blink of an eye. Eddie couldn’t wait to plunge into the world of adulthood; college, shitty jobs, drunken nights with his friends. Sex.

Eddie was going to have sex- for the first time- on his eighteenth birthday. More importantly, he was going to have sex with Richie Tozier. The thought made him sweat profusely.

Richie and him had...done stuff. They weren’t totally oblivious to the inner works of sexual activities. Eddie had to cross his legs under the desk just thinking about it; images rose over him like a red-hot knife entering his skin, sudden and startling. He saw himself lying under Richie in his bed, legs spread wide to accommodate the width of Richie’s shoulders, his tongue hot and wet between Eddie’s legs. They had only done that a handful of times so far.

Eddie remembered the first time he had given Richie a handjob, his fingers unsteady as he brought him to release. The idea of having Richie in his mouth was so overwhelming he often tried not to think about it. He knew he wanted it though. In fact, he often found himself rolling over at night, his cock hard and damp against the sheets as he imagined how Richie would taste on his tongue.

He _wanted_ to please Richie, but he still had his reserves.

The memory of the leper- diseased and rotting- as it leaned over Eddie offering him a blow job; a profound sexual act made a sour taste rise in the back of his throat. Eddie worked hard to overcome his fears regarding sex. He wanted to _be_ good to Richie. He also wanted to _make_ Richie feel good.

Richie was beyond considerate and attentive. It made Eddie’s need to sleep with him unwind and grow until he was overrun with the desire.

They talked about moving forward, but the thought still made Eddie feel queazy and hot all over. Eddie was hesitant about having sex, there was no denying that. He was scared of the pain, the intimacy, and the possibility of diseases.

But Eddie trusted Richie. He knew Richie would never do anything to purposefully put him in harm’s way.

A few months ago, Eddie had decided that he would take the horrifying fearful leap and begin researching on how to have safe sex. Anal sex. With another man. More specifically, anal sex with _Richie_. The research was awkward and veiled in secrecy and often left him flustered from head to toe.

The first thing that had to be done- much to Eddie’s dismay- was to _work_ his way up. Apparently he couldn’t spontaneously have sex. He had to...prepare himself. Taking someone’s penis was a process.

Eddie remembered the first night Richie had worked him open with his fingers. He made Richie wear gloves because he was absolutely frightened of what might come out of him. Challenging those thoughts was a struggle. He had to learn how to package them up so he could store them somewhere far away so they couldn’t reach him. Besides that though, Eddie became very aware of how much he _loved_ Richie’s fingers. Once he overcame the strange feeling and slight discomfort, Eddie felt like a...he felt like a slut. The word made his face flood with heat, but it was the only way he could describe how Richie made him feel. Richie’s fingers were long and his knuckles were gibbousness and he could reach the deepest most pleasurable parts of Eddie with the pads of his fingertips. Ever since that night, Eddie couldn’t go more than a few days without begging Richie for his fingers. He was a mess, to say the least.

He suppressed a groan, thinking about everything that could go wrong tonight. He needed- _wanted_ \- the night to go well not just because he wanted to squash his fears of sex and intimacy but he also wanted to make Richie feel delighted to have Eddie as his boyfriend. He _needed_ to make Richie feel pleasure beyond his comprehension.

Whatever Ms. Mable was saying was blotted out by the sound of his heart beating vociferously in his ears.

A hand tapping his shoulder startled him. He jolted upward, his knee hitting the top of the desk likely darkening the already forming bruise.

“Oh,” Marry Ann started, “I’m sorry! Gosh, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She was leaning over the side of her desk staring at him with troubled eyes. Her long hair rolled over her shoulder in chestnut curls. Eddie thought she was quite beautiful. She had fair skin and dark eyes that were sweet and innocent. Sometimes he would stare at girls like Mary Ann and _sometimes_ he longed to be attracted to them. He knew things would be easier on him if he found girls, with their soft curves and gentle hands, more alluring. When he had those thoughts, he immediately felt something mysterious fester inside of him, like the thought was rotten.

Eddie undoubtedly found Richie attractive. He even thought of him as _beautiful,_ though he struggled with how to say those words to him out loud. Richie’s long nose and sharp jaw was enthralling. His hands were wide and strong and though Eddie didn’t mind delicate features he longed to be held down and dominated; a thought that still had him shrinking with bewilderment as he explored his sexual fantasies. Eddie didn’t think he could ever get that from a woman. He also knew that penises were without a doubt way more appealing than what was between a woman’s legs.

Once during PE his freshman year, a bunch of boys had snuck in nude magazines and Eddie had got a glimpse of the most sensitive parts of a woman. While the other boys were ogling at the airbrushed models, Eddie wanted to know what it would be like to be one of those women as a man hovered over them, their large hands clutching their waists. He went home that day and cried until he thought his sobs would eventually cause him to choke with how surmounted his emotions became. He never wanted to see a naked woman again in his life.

“Are you alright? Are you sick?” Mary Ann questioned.

Eddie’s skin crawled. He despised when people circled around him with questions about his well being.

“Uh- no, I’m fine,” Eddie explained. “I’m just- just tired.”

“Are you sure? You look...unwell like you have a fever,” she pushed.

“I said I’m fine,” Eddie scowled, “thanks.”

She looked disappointed, tapping her finger against the side of her desk. Her nails were painted light pink, girly, and feminine. She faced forward again, flickering her hair off her shoulder.

Eddie sank further down into his chair, unable to hone in on anything valuable; words fell over him and disappeared somewhere beyond his point of concentration.

When the bell rang for the next class, Eddie followed the crowd of grainy faces. His heart was still slamming against his ribs. By the time he reached his locker, he had to press his forehead against the cool metal, soothing his clammy skin.

“Eddie! Eddie!” Richie’s voice reached him over the heckling of the other students.

Eddie looked up and found his face among the sea of strangers. Richie was tall, dodging students left and right. His hair was untamed and his eyes were lively as Eddie gazed up at him.

Richie shouldered past the other students, looking frantic and annoyed.

“Hi,” he breathed once he reached Eddie’s side, towering over him.

“Hi,” Eddie whispered.

Richie’s eyes on him made him feel skittish. It became insanely easy over the years to hold his attention. When they were younger, Eddie felt like he had to fight for Richie’s interest; throwing jabs and insults so that Richie would glance over at him; talking a mile per minute so Richie would be aware that he _existed_. As they got older, it was like Richie had zero intentions of focusing on anybody else _but_ Eddie. It was quite intense and he never wanted to grow out of whatever it was they had worked their way up to.

“I got all the stuff you asked for,” Richie blurted, his face flushed with color.

Eddie’s stomach lurched violently.

“Jesus, Richie,” he hissed, his eyes darting around the congested hallway as if someone would understand what Richie meant just by saying the word stuff. “Now is _definitely_ not the time to be discussing this.”

He grabbed Richie's sleeve and tugged him along. He led them down the end of the hall where it gave way to an arching alcove. He crammed the two of them into the corner, peeking around to see if anyone was paying attention to them.

“Someone could have heard you,” Eddie sighed. He realized he was still gripping Richie’s sleeve, his fingers bunching up the fabric.

He was wearing a jean jack and faded black ripped jeans. He had on a vintage _Kiss_ t-shirt underneath. He had abandoned his usual Hawaiian buttons up for a more grungy style and Eddie would never admit that he missed the horrid sight of his typical dad shirts. Bev said it wouldn’t last and Eddie prayed that was true. Richie wearing tight jeans and black boots did detrimental things to Eddie’s sleep. He was horny _all_ the time.

“You’re kinda being a spaz, Eds,” Richie remarked. “No one gives a shit what we’re talking about.”

“Well, _I_ give a shit what we’re talking about,” Eddie jabbed, sneaking a glance around the corner again. “People don’t know how to mind their own fucking business. You can never be too careful.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Richie muttered, “I just wanted to let you know I got all the shit you asked for.”

Eddie looked at him. His eyes were serious and tender. His heart climbed into his throat.

“Thanks,” Eddie said. He wanted to stretch up and draw Richie down into a slow-moving kiss.

Instead, he cupped the side of Richie’s hand in a silent gesture of gratitude. “I- I’m just nervous I guess.”

“Shit, me too,” he informed. His eyes were wide behind his glasses, his cheeks splashed with color. “I almost chickened out at the register- it was so embarrassing. I don’t think I can ever show my face there again, Eds. Keene’s is the only fucking pharmacy in town. If you ever want to have sex with me again we’re gonna have to go bareback beca-”

Eddie’s face exploded with warmth. He shoved Richie against the wall, a hand over his mouth.

“Jesus, fuck Richie,” Eddie cried, his heart hammering away in his chest, “you can’t just _say_ shit like that out loud, oh my god.”

Richie's only response was to lick Eddie’s hand. Eddie jerked back, appalled, and grossed out.

“You’re so fucking _gross_ , I swear,” he gagged.

“Nobody’s listening to us, jeez,” Richie rolled his eyes. He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. “You might want to start relaxing Eds because you can’t be this uptight tonight if-”

Eddie was already walking away before Richie could finish his sentence. Realistically he knew that Richie’s only defense when he felt an upsurge of emotions was to make jokes. Realistically, he needed to work on that.

“Eddie,” Richie was out of breath trying to catch up to him, “Jesus slow down, Eds jeez.”

Eddie ignored him. He threw open his locker, shoving books into his open backpack. He slammed the locker closed with enough force to draw attention towards them.

“Hey,” Richie said, “I was only kidding.”

“So this is all a fucking joke to you then?” Eddie nearly yelled. The eyes lingering on them reminded him he needed to tone it down a bit.

“I didn’t _say_ that,” Richie defended. “I was making a joke. I didn’t say what we're doing,” he whispered, his eyes wandering around for a second, “was a joke. There’s a difference.”

“Well, can you please stop?” Eddie asked, his voice breaking. “It’s freaking me the fuck out.”

Before Richie could reply, the bell squealed overhead. Eddie wanted to slide down his locker and take a nap, exhaustion barreling over him.

“I have to get to class,” Eddie mumbled.

“Eds, wait-”

Eddie was already retreating to his last period, dismissing Richie’s voice as he called after him.

* * *

Eddie couldn’t avoid Richie for much longer. He didn’t _actually_ want to avoid him though. He was afraid to face him after their last conversation. Their encounter earlier had him feeling afflicted. He had probably fucked it all up.

He'd have to face him eventually. Richie was also Eddie’s ride home, so there was that.

He spotted Richie leaning against the side of his truck. He was talking to Sarah Brown. She was standing in front of him, casual and relaxed. Sarah was tall, her hair cut to graze against her shoulders. If Eddie didn’t already know she was a lesbian, he would have been riddled with jealousy seeing her standing so close to Richie, openly flirtatious. She was practically the girl version of Richie; black hair, punk rock, loud and crude in the worst possible moments. And also gay as fuck. So, there was that. The only difference was that she was out and proud- or as proud as you could be in Derry- and Richie wasn’t.

“Hey, Eddie,” she nodded as he approached.

“Hi, Sarah,” he waved, but his eyes were on Richie.

He was effortlessly lounging against the side of his car, arms crossed over his chest. He seemed unbothered. It made Eddie tense with anxiety.

Sarah glanced between the two of them, her mouth forming a small o.

“I’ll- uh see you around,” she saluted Richie, smiling at Eddie as she retreated.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie found himself saying almost immediately, “about earlier. I- I know I can be overwhelming sometimes but I’m scared that somehow I’m going to fuck it up and I don’t- I don’t want to ruin what we have because-”

Before he knew it, Richie was stalking towards him, pulling him into a tight embrace. Eddie’s arms automatically wrapped around his waist, burying his face in Richie’s chest. He smelt fresh like the earth.

For a moment it was just the two of them; Eddie being engulfed by Richie until he thought they’d melt together. He didn’t even care who saw them. He had been craving for Richie to reach out all day, an insistent itch; desperate to be as close to him as possible. He was finally able to scratch it and it felt holy.

They pulled away, Eddie’s hands lingered on his waist. He couldn’t help but glance around briefly, just to make sure no one was paying too close attention to them.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Richie stated. He ran his hands up and down the sides of Eddie's arms, soothing his nerves. “I shouldn’t have called you spaz earlier. I guess- we’re honestly both making ourselves really fucking nervous for no reason. We’ve done our fucking research, Eds. We’re gonna be _golden_.”

“And what if we’re not?” Eddied asked, unable to help himself. “What if- what if things go wrong? What if we fuck it up?”

“Then we try again? It’s not- we can always try again,” he reassured.

He looked very determined and confident with his statement. Some of Eddie’s anxieties eased up, the pressure in his head slowly throbbing into a rhythm of silence.

“Okay,” Eddie exhaled. He looked up at Richie and wanted to kiss him so badly. He couldn't wait for the day he could openly kiss Richie, unafraid of the consequences.

Richie slung an arm over his shoulder, drawing him closer to his side.

When they were sitting in the car, Richie leaned down and kissed the back of his hand. His lips lingered on Eddie’s skin and he was overcome with a range of emotions. Eddie trusted Richie. He knew that no matter what, Richie was the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He had technically realized that when he was ten when he dared Richie to eat a cricket and without a second thought, Richie had done exactly that. He realized then that Richie would do anything to make him happy, to see his smile grow and flourish. As he got older, the reality of wanting to spend the rest of his life with someone took shape until he saw Richie’s dopey smile and coke bottle glasses.

One day, he hoped he’d be able to see that future play out.

* * *

The silence was disquieting and miserable.

His mother sat across from him, cutting her chicken breast into neat little cubes. She smeared it around the melting butter from the vegetables and took a small polite bite. He waited for her to finish chewing.

“Uh-Ma,” Eddie started, uncertain.

“Eddie,” his mother sighed, cutting him off, “I already told you _no_. Why can’t we celebrate your birthday- for once- with just the two of us? It’s been so long since I’ve been able to see you on your birthday without your _pesky_ little friends swarming around you.”

“Ma,” Eddie warned, anger boiling over inside him, “my friends aren’t _pesky._ God forbid I have friends that give a shit about me.”

“Eddie,” his mother gasped, appalled. Her cheeks were cherry-red.

“I’m going to see my friends,” Eddie declared, determined, “and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

Eddie set his plate aside and pushed himself away from the table.

“Eddie-” she cautioned, gripping her silverware tightly in each hand, her knuckles white.

“Dinner was great, Ma,” Eddie told her, “I appreciate you cooking for me.”

“ _Eddie_ -”

“I’m eighteen now,” Eddie reminded her, “I don’t need to ask you for permission to see my friends.”

Eddie slid out of his seat, ignoring his mother’s pleas for him to come back. He raced up the stairs, his heart flapping with bravery.

He shut himself in his room, slumping back against the door.

Standing up to his mother made him feel bold. But courage was easy to squander. Too often had he walked away feeling light on his feet, only to be dragged back by his mother’s retched words and worries. Tonight, he refused to feel anything but brave. Tonight was going to be perfect. No fears, no worries. Just him and Richie and their love; lively and warm.

A thud spooked him. His eyes snapped open and he saw Richie sneaking through his window.

“Richie?”

“Eddie!” his mother screamed, her heavy steps clunking up the stairs.

Before he could turn to lock the door, his mother tried to shove it open. Eddie braced himself against the door, his pulse racing wildly.

“Jesus, Ma I’m-I’m naked!” Eddie shouted, his face torrid with embarrassment.

“There was a noise,” his mother called, frenzied. “Are you hurt? Eddie if you’re hurt you need to tell me. Eddie-”

“I’m fine, Ma I swear,” Eddie rushed, reaching to lock the door. “Please, go away.”

“Eddie-”

“I said I’m fine,” Eddie urged.

Eddie listened, waiting. He heard her footsteps disappear. He sagged with relief.

“Uh,” Richie faltered.

Eddie turned and glared at him.

“ _What_ are you doing?” Eddie tittered.

He walked towards him and caught sight of the white plastic bag in his hand.

“I- uh came to drop this off,” Richie said, his face reddened. He offered the bag to Eddie. “I thought you’d maybe want to- you know, uh, get in there and-” He made an odd scooping gesture with his free hand.

Eddie peered inside the bag. Immediately, his stomach flooded with heat. It was the enema he had asked for.

Eddie snatched the bag, clutching it to his chest. He realized what Richie’s strange hand motion was supposed to mean and it felt like someone had closed a fist around his insides.

“Thanks,” Eddie piped. “I’m- I’m just. I’m going to go, um. I’m-”

“No, yeah, totally,” he said, backing up, colliding with Eddie’s nightstand. “I’ll uh, see you at Mike’s?”

Mike was the only person they had told about their epic rendezvous. Eddie wasn’t ready for this others to know about him losing his virginity. Mike offered up a space for the two of them in the barn house. It hadn’t been in use for a few years now, but the thought of having sex in a barn still seemed very off-putting. Mike and Richie had promised to clean it up nicely and he trusted them to keep their word.

The others promised to celebrate his birthday over the weekend. Eddie wondered if they would be able to tell that he had had sex. Would it visibly change him? His stomach twisted uncomfortably at the thought.

“Yeah, of course,” Eddie reassured.

They stared at each other for an embarrassingly long moment.

“Right,” Richie breathed, shooting him the classic Tozier finger guns before he stumbled out the window.

Eddie stood there, the bag burning a hole through his hand. He couldn’t even bear to look at it. The notion that he was one step closer to- to having Richie inside of him was overpowering. Heat spread through his lower stomach.

He checked if the coast was clear. He could hear the clatter of dishes and the muffled sound of voices coming from the television set in the living room. He dashed across the hall and locked himself in the bathroom.

He stripped down and stared at himself in the mirror, waiting for the water to warm up. Richie had reminded him- quite often- of how hot Eddie was. He didn’t necessarily believe him, but Richie’s enthusiasm made it impossible for Eddie not to blush under the compliment.

In the shower, Eddie stared at the enema as if he were holding a grande. It was daunting. He probably stood under the spray of water for five minutes before he finally got to work.

The process was...weird and uncomfortable to say the least.

Afterward, he dressed in his finest pair of jeans and a polo shirt with a jacket over top. He tamed his hair somewhat but decided not to gel it into place because Richie hated the tacky feeling of the styling cream when he ran his fingers through Eddie’s curls. He slapped on some cologne and deodorant, sniffing himself to make sure he smelt nice.

By the time he made it downstairs, he was visibly shaking. He was satisfied and comfortable but agitated about what was to come.

“Ma,” Eddie spoke as he came down the stairs. She was sitting in her armchair, reclined. The light from the television painted her face blue. Eddie heard stage laugher, but his mother’s face was stone cold. “I’m headed out. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He waited for her response, but she didn’t so much as acknowledge his presence. Eddie almost hesitated, but the need to please her was quickly shot dead. This wasn't about her. This night was about him and Richie.

He exited the house and bounded down the steps. He snatched his bike from the front lawn and peddled down the street, burning rubber as he sped towards Mike’s without a second glance back.

* * *

Eddie couldn’t see.

Richie’s large hands were covering his eyes, blocking out the rest of the world. He didn’t know why it was necessary to navigate his way through the dark, he had been inside the barn house plenty of times before; playing hide and go seek with the Losers one summer, feeding a baby calf during the winter. They walked up some steps, Richie right there behind him to catch him in case he fell.

“Watch your step,” Richie warned him softly. “Lift your foot- your right foot, yeah there you go.” They walked a few more steps before he brought them to a halt. Richie drew hands away.

Eddie saw the honey gold twinkle of lights. Small fairy lights were wrapped around the coffee-colored wood, illuminating the space. They even ran up the high beams, showering them in a warm glow. There were several cream-colored duvets laid out on the floor; pillows and a few throw blankets nestled in there too. There was an old boom box in the corner, playing supple music. Eddie could see the supplies- special lube, condoms, water, a set of wash clothes- laid out neatly.

“Mike, uh, helped with the lights,” Richie informed him, “I thought it would have been fine to just go at in the dark, but apparently you need to see what you’re doing.”

Eddie turned and stared at him. His hair was soft and chaotic, his glasses clean and stainless as if he wanted to be able to see everything. He was wearing a dark black long sleeve and plain jeans. Eddie yearned to be close to him.

“You’re an idiot,” Eddie smiled.

He brought Richie down into a kiss, standing on the tips of his toes. It was an open mouth kiss, slow and languid. Eddie carded his fingers through Richie’s hair, tugging him closer. Richie’s hand curled around his waist, pressing him against his hip where Eddie could feel the thickness of Richie against his stomach.

Suddenly, Richie was walking them backward until he could press Eddie down into the duvet, one hand holding onto to the small of his back, the other coming out to ease them onto the ground.

Eddie deepened the kiss, sucking on Richie’s tongue as it slipped past his mouth. Eddie would never get over the sheer intensity of emotions he felt when kissing Richie; lips moving like the waves as their tongues slipped past each other.

They made out for a while, Richie rocking forward ever so often eliciting a drawn-out moan from the both of them as their erection slid together.

Eddie broke away first, his lips tingling. He kept his hands in Richie’s hair, scratching his scalp.

“We should- we should take our clothes off,” Eddie suggested.

Eddie didn’t feel as uneasy as he thought he would. He was almost delirious with excitement. He entrusted Richie with his well being and he knew Richie would take care of him.

Richie leaned down and kissed him with obvious desperation.

He stripped down first, leaning back on his knees. Eddie supported himself on his elbows, watching, transfixed. He had seen Richie fully naked before, but this was different. The sight of his lean muscles and slightly hairy chest sent shivers down his spine. The heat between his legs swelled.

“You’re beautiful,” Eddie heard himself say.

Richie’s smile gleamed. He leaned down and flicked his tongue over Eddie’s lips before tugging on his bottom lip.

“You’re such a sweetheart,” he whispered and his voice was shaking slightly around the words.

They tugged off Eddie’s jeans and the rest of his clothes, tossing them to the side. When they were both completely nude, Richie lowered himself back down, pressing their bodies close. Eddie felt his cock pulse, thickening so fast his head spun. He could feel the thickness of Richie against his hip, warm, and tacky.

Eddie had seen Richie’s dick, had even held it in his hand; felt it throb, hearty and sticky with come. But the obscene closeness of it made him want to snap his legs closed. A strange, arousing sensation ran up the back of his thighs into his hips.

Richie nosed the side of his face.

“Can I put my mouth on you?” he asked. He was always careful with how he phrased it, aware of Eddie’s qualms.

Eddie nodded, kissing the top of his head as he slid down the length of his body. The gentleness in his voice- the affection flashing in his eyes- eased any concerns Eddie may have conjured up.

Richie eased down between Eddie’s open legs which were firmly set shoulder-width apart.

“I like your mouth,” Eddie confessed, feeling his cheeks warm with color. He felt like he should be talking to fill the silence or to distract himself.

Richie chuckled, his eyes flickering up.

“You’re too sweet, Eds,” he said and kissed the skin right below his navel. He sat up, spreading Eddie’s legs.

Eddie wanted to hide, feeling tender and raw under Richie’s concentrated gaze.

Richie leaned down and pressed a warm kiss to the inside of his thigh. He kissed upward until he reached his hip where he licked the jut of his hip bone.

Eddie whined as Richie repeated the same delicate motions on the other side, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of his stomach. Eddie turned his head, bunching up the duvet in one hand as he panted, his hips lifting on their own.

Richie hovered over the head of Eddie’s cock, warm and hard. Richie took him into his mouth, lavishing the tip with his tongue; flicking it up where he could focus on the slit, tasting the saltiness of Eddie’s precome.

Eddie rolled his hips up against Richie’s mouth, whining as pleasure washed over him.

Richie swallowed him down to the hilt in a smooth wet slid before resurfacing. The wet slid of his tongue should have made Eddie roll away in disgust, but he found he enjoyed the sight of Richie’s shiny red lips wrapped around the length of him. He couldn’t look away. Richie peppered kisses on the underside of his cock, his wrist twisting to find a rhythm that Eddie seemed to thoroughly enjoy.

Eddie's cock pulsed and if Richie continued, he didn’t think he’d last much longer.

Eddie tugged on his hair until Richie was crawling back up, kissing the side of his mouth. Eddie use to have worries surrounding kissing Richie after his mouth had been down there, but now he found himself desperate to taste himself. When Richie licked into his mouth, Eddie gasped, the sour taste on Richie’s tongue as it slid over his made his cock jump against Richie’s stomach.

Richie pulled back slightly, his eyes roaming over Eddie’s face. Richie’s cheeks were flushed and his pupils were blown wide.

“I, uh, did some research of my own,” Richie admitted, “and I wanted to try something.”

Eddie’s heart beat rapidly, excitement spreading through his chest. He thumbed the side of Richie’s jaw, wanting him to speak. The idea of Richie doing his own research- discovering his own fantasies- made Eddie thrilled to discover what it was.

“You can totally say no,” he rushed, “but it’s something I’ve thought about.”

“What is it?” Eddie urged, his heart fluttering with anticipation.

“I want- Iwanttotryeatingyouout,” he hurried, his face turning red.

Eddie couldn’t help but laugh, almost snorting as the giggles overcame him.

“Richie, I’m not- I don’t have,” he lowered his voice as if someone might be eavesdropping, “a vagina.”

“Wha- well no shit Sherlock,” Richie gawked.

“Then what are you-”

He followed Richie’s eyes as they lingered between his legs. Something akin to molten lava spread through his abdomen.

“ _Oh,_ ” Eddie breathed. “I- um. I couldn’t- we couldn’t kiss afterward,” he found himself saying.

Eddie had read about _that_ a few times during his exploration of safe sex. The idea of someone’s mouth, down there, left him sweltering with confusion. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it. Sometimes at night he’d be woken up by a dream of Richie between his legs, his mouth almost reaching that delicate part of him. Sometimes, he even let himself think about what it would be like to do that to Richie if he was ever willing to be on the receiving end. It would be a while before he could voice those thoughts out loud.

Eddie knew he was clean and though the practice did cause concern to spark somewhere deep inside of him, knowing that it would make Richie feel good was all he needed to move forward.

“You- wait, was that- are you saying _yes_?” Richie squeaked, staring at him with a dumbfounded look.

“I think?”

“No, Eds, baby,” Richie reached down and kissed him all across his face, “you have to say yes. It has to be a verbal agreement.”

“Yes,” Eddie sighed as they kissed, sloppy and quick.

“I actually brought mouth wash,” Richie told him, “just in case. I didn’t think you’d actually say yes, but I thought why the fuck not. I was feeling pretty fucking lucky. You make me feel like I’m the luckiest motherfucker in the world, you know that?”

Eddie disagreed, it was totally the other way around. “What if I don’t like it?” Eddie voiced.

“Just tell me to stop and I’ll stop,” Richie said, his voice sobering. He kissed his cheek. “I’m serious, it doesn’t matter if I’m balls deep in you, if you say stop at any moment I’m done.”

Eddie laughed, his heart swelling. _God_ , he loved him. “Okay,” he smiled.

“Turn around for me,” Richie said, more a demand than a question.

Eddie’s insides were doing somersaults. He moved so he was lying on his stomach and he couldn’t help but rock forward into the sheets, trying to relieve some of the pressure between his legs.

There were dimples on Eddie’s back and Richie dipped his thumbs into the indentations and used his hands to spread Eddie’s cheeks.

“ _Ngh_ ,” Eddie sighed into his hand, embarrassed to be heard. There were too many emotions bouncing around in his head.

Richie licked a long wet stripe over the fluttering heat of Eddie’s hole.

Eddie made a strangled noise as if he had been shot, an extraordinary wave of arousal crashing into him. He was _so_ fucked, he realized.

Richie did it again, strategic and well thought out so that he could draw the most beautiful sounds out of Eddie. The breathy noises Eddie was making was all the encouragement Richie needed.

What he lacked in experience, he made up for with enthusiasm.

Richie put his lips over Eddie’s hole and sucked heartily, lavishing attention over the heated flesh. He kept that up until he swiped the flat of his tongue over the puckered flesh and Eddie jerked away from his mouth, whining.

“ _Fuck_ , Richie,” Eddie moaned. “ _Ah,_ fuck I- ‘m gonna come,” he babbled, his face pressed into the duvet to muffle his high pitched whine.

Suddenly he was being turned over, Richie panting above him. Eddie reached up and brushed his fingers over his reddened lips, unable to help himself.

Richie reached over scrambled with the supplies. He was shaking so badly he could barely unscrew the lid to the small travel-sized bottle of mouth wash. He tipped his head back and Eddie stared at the long expanse of his neck, his Adam’s apple moving along the pale skin. He swished the liquid around and instead of spitting it out he swallowed in one gulp.

“Wh- _Richie_!” Eddie worried, horrified.

“Don’t worry about,” he smiled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “it just means my mouth is double the clean, plus spitters are quitters Eds, don’t forget that.”

“You’re _such_ an idiot, I swear,” Eddie groaned but drew Richie into a messy kiss, tugging on his lower lip just to hear him moan.

Eddie reached over and grabbed the lube. It was a specially designed lube that was supposed to be great for first times.

“Here,” Eddie said, handing Richie the bottle, “you have to finger me.”

This Eddie was familiar with. His legs fell open with ease, inviting Richie to make himself comfortable.

Richie lubed up his fingers and the first press inside had Eddie struggling to breathe, his hips rocking downward to take him deeper. Richie twisted his wrist, angling his finger deeper until he found the bundle of nerves that had Eddie cursing, hips chasing the response. Quickly, Richie added a second finger, then a third scissoring him open with practiced fingers; long and experienced.

“I can’t wait to be inside you,” Richie confessed, his eyes focusing on his fingers as they disappeared inside of Eddie.

Eddie pulled him into a bruising kiss, sighing softly as his fingers curled inside of him.

“Come on then,” he whined, “take me. ‘M ready.”

Richie pulled back and searched his face. “You sure?”

“Yes, please. I’m ready,” he cried.

They maneuvered around until Eddie was in Richie’s lap. Richie tore open a condom, handing it to Eddie. He reached back and rolled it over his cock. Richie hissed at the contact, his cock red and leaking already. Eddie quickly poured lube over Richie’s erection until he was satisfied it would be enough to help him glide down smoothly.

Eddie leaned down to kiss Richie, a pure gentle press of lips. His cock was hot against Richie’s stomach. They both knew it wouldn’t last long.

Richie kissed the side of Eddie’s collarbone, then the skin of his neck; latching onto the skin just to hear Eddie gasp with pleasure, his hips bucking forward.

Before either of them could register what was happening, Eddie sank down on Richie’s cock. Neither of them could comprehend anything except the press forward into Eddie’s body. Eddie cried out as the head of Richie’s cock pushed into the oiled heat between his legs. His breath was punched out of him, his lashes fanned over his face. Eddie bit down on his lip until the skin turned white.

His legs were trembling.

“You’re- _fuck_ ,” Eddie breathed through his nose, “you’re- _ah_ \- really big.”

“I tried to tell you, no one ever believed me,” Richie gasped, joking. His fingers curled around Eddie’s hips.

“Well- I definitely believe you now, _Jesus_ ,” Eddie sobbed as he slid down the length of Richie.

Richie was breathing heavily below him, fingers flexing around his hips. Eddie sank down further, muscles burning. When he was fully seated, he bowed his head, breath shaky and nervous. The feeling was indescribable. He was so _full_.

“Don’t move,” Eddie whined, adjusting. He braced his hands on Richie’s chest and rolled his hips, gasping at the sensation.

Eddie was in total control, feeling the ache and stretch of Richie’s cock at a pace that he could handle. The sensation of having Richie inside of him was strange but he could feel the acceleration of pleasure rushing towards him. At first, it was a stretch that made him want to pull away and roll off of Richie but as he lifted himself up the hot drag of Richie’s cock inside of him was mindblowing.

With Richie inside him, it was hard to think. He felt like his skin was hot to the point of burning. Richie lifted his hips and after that, everything happening so fast.

Eddie couldn’t escape the building pressure in his body. His body was eagerly awaiting every thrust, desperate to be as close to Richie as possible. Richie’s next thrust hit something deep inside him and his arms turned to jelly and he sank forward, whining in the crook of Richie’s neck.

“Eddie,” Richie sighed, his voice crumbling around his name.

Richie held on tightly to his hips and drove into him once, twice, three times before a broken cry- that may have been an attempt at Eddie’s name- tore through him. Eddie reached between their bodies, his fist wrapped around his cock as he tried to match Richie’s erratic thrusts, his knuckles rubbing against Richie’s stomach. In a matter of seconds, he was coming in thick long spurts across both their stomachs, his abs tensing, and spasming.

His blood was pounding in his ears. He didn’t know how he could ever come down from this high; he felt like he was floating on a cloud of true blissfulness. It felt like someone had scooped out his insides with a melon scooper and filled him with helium. He thought he might never return to his body.

“ _Eddie_ ,” Richie whimpered, “Eds- do you. Tell me what you want-”

Richie’s frenzied voice seemed to fill Eddie with spirit. He rose, feeling Richie thick and warm inside of him still and shook the hair out of his face. Despite the burn in his legs and the ache in his arms, he rolled his hips back, one hand on Richie’s chest, the other on the back of Richie’s knee.

“ _Shit,_ ” Richie whined. “Oh, fuck.”

Eddie lifted his hips slightly, the burn and drag against his entrance enough to make him moan deep in his throat. He glided his hips down and forward one last time before Richie's fingers on his hips gripped him tight enough to bruise. Richie jackknifed off the duvet, eyes slammed shut as his orgasm raced through him.

Eddie fell forward, one had braced by Richie’s head. He cursed under his breath, feeling Richie throb deep inside of him, pain mixing with renewed pleasure.

Eventually, his arms gave out and he collapsed on top of Richie.

“Holy shit, Eds,” Richie wheezed, trying to catch his breath.

“I can’t feel ‘m legs,” Eddie muttered, his face pressed in Richie’s sweaty neck. He wanted to lick the bead of sweat falling into the junction of his shoulder but was too weak to lift his head.

“You’re welcome,” Richie grinned against the side of his face. “But- Eds I gotta. I should pull out.”

Eddie lifted his hips and he felt Richie slip out of his entrance, hissing slightly at the sensitivity.

Richie rolled them around until Eddie was flat on his back. He sat back on his knees, reaching over Eddie's head to grab a cloth and a water bottle.

He was careful as he scrubbed the cloth over Eddie’s skin and between his legs. Eddie watched through hooded eyes as he cleaned himself off, his cock heavy and soft between his legs. He felt a ping of arousal just by looking at him.

Richie flopped down next to him, a hand behind his head.

“That was fucking hot, Eds,” Richie said to the ceiling.

Eddie grappled with the realization of what they just did. Years of suppression and fear around sex and intimacy seemed to fade away into oblivion. He knew they would be back, but lying there next to Richie- naked and carefree- who was showered in warm yellow light, seemed to be all he needed to reassure himself that everything was going to be alright.

There was a long list of things Eddie wanted to try with Richie. He wanted to be able to feel his cock hefty in his mouth, Richie's hips moving under his hands. He wanted Richie to hold him down and use Eddie as he pleased. He wanted to make love to him, to feel the already-addicting stretch and burn of Richie inside of him.

He knew he had time to figure it all out; to explore his sexuality with Richie, to feel safe and loved. Richie would do anything for Eddie.

Eddie picked up the bottle of lube and squirted some onto the tip of his finger.

“Hey, Rich,” Eddie spoke. “Richie, hey.”

“Hmm,” he mumbled, his eyes closed. “What is it?”

Eddie rolled over, pressed against Richie's side.

“What do you think this tastes like?” he asked.

Richie peeled open his eyes, squinting up at him. He stared at Eddie’s finger.

“It probably tastes like ass, Eds, I don’t know,” he grumbled.

Eddie tried to suppress a snicker.

“Wait,” Richie said, more alter, “wait! Fuck, that could have been a beautifully crafted joke. I _know_ what ass tastes like and I let that slip past me.”

“You’re so stupid,” Eddie laughed. He kissed the side of his ribs then up into his armpit. He bit the inside of his bicep, loving the sound of his quickened breathing. “I still want you to taste it though. You need to tell me if it really tastes like ass.”

“Ew,” he grimaced, “I’m not putting that in my mouth.”

“Why not?” Eddie stared down at his finger.

“You taste it if you want to know so badly.”

“But I want _you_ to taste it.”

Richie stared at him, trying to seem put off. He rolled his eyes before grabbing Eddie’s hand and sucking on his finger. Eddie couldn’t look away as Richie dragged the tip of his finger over his tongue, scraping his knuckles against the back of Eddie’s teeth as he pulled away.

“It tastes like nothing,” Richie notified, falling back against the duvet, smiling. “Happy?”

“Yes,” Eddie admitted, “thank you for the enlightenment.”

Eddie leaned down and kissed him, melodious and filthy as the fairy lights shimmered above them in a dazzling dream-like reverie.

He refused to be afraid of this. No one could use his love for Richie against him. 


	11. The House on Neibolt Street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Together, the climbed the creped old steps and were swallowed by the beast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: brief description of sex and a minor description of gore

If Richie didn’t fall into a deep devouring sleep on the way to Bangor he’d surely hit the ground, dawdling and unable to think clearly at all. He especially wouldn't be able to process the possibility that he might not find Eddie. Well, no amount of sleep could prepare him for that. No amount of anything could brace him for the sheer force of emotions that would crash over him.

Richie sank into a stiff leather chair in the JFK resting area, watching people operate their way through the growing crowd. The first few weeks of August had rolled out with the sultry heat of prime time summer days. The airport was overrun with families; children tugging on sleeves and toddlers dragging their sticky hands over anything they could reach when their parents weren’t looking. Richie’s chest ached, thinking about what Eddie’s reaction would be if he were here.

 _Rich- Richie don’t touch that. No, Richie! Did you see that fucking kid? He just picked his nose and then he touched the conveyor belt. Just get on with no hands. You don’t_ need _your hands, I'll catch you if you fall- just don’t touch it._

By the time Richie boarded his flight he was befuddled and sluggish.

The only thing keeping him on his feet was knowing that the others were also maneuvering through crowded airports, shoving bags above their heads and shaking just as badly as he was.

He stared down at his phone, thumbing over the image of him and Eddie. Their smiles were full of joy, Richie’s arm slung over Eddie’s shoulder drawing him closer.

A notification from his manager, _Stevie_ , popped up on his screen.

_Where are you? Richie?_

_Please tell me you’re on your way._

Richie sighed, turning his phone on airplane mode and then ultimately deciding to just turn off altogether.

He reached into his bag and pulled out a small circular pill container. He remembered one year when he had rummaged through his bag back in his hotel in Los Angeles only to hear the rattling of pills. He pulled out the container and saw all his medication was there. His antidepressant and daily vitamin- Eddie insisted even though he made Richie eat twelve times the recommended serving of fruits and vegetables- and his B-6 supplement because Richie was prone to kidney stones and according to Dr. K, b vitamins helped to prevent them.

Richie shoveled Ambien down his throat and took a swig of water from his insulated water bottle.

 _Richie, listen to me. Listen. These water bottles are life-changing. They keep your water cold for twenty-four hours. Twenty-four hours Richie. You should get one. No, you should get two so you can keep one at home and one on set because you’re always forgetting to drink enough water. You should be drinking more water, Richie, because hydration is key for a healthy gut. But you should_ _totally buy two, just in case. And you’ll have to remember to bring it home so you can wash it frequently because bacteria can grow if you don’t and then you’ll basically be drinking mold and I don’t want to kiss you if you’ve been drinking moldy water._

Richie tipped his head back and the world slid out of focus as the medicine pushed him under.

Richie opened his eyes to a familiar scene.

Eddie was laughing, buoyant, and open. 

Eddie was lying beneath him, his legs spread wide on either side of Richie’s hips where he was lounging between them. They were both shamelessly rocking their birthday suits. Richie was hovering over him on his elbows, staring down at him, his heart full of love. His wedding ring glinted off the sunlight streaming in from their right.

Eddie smiled at him, sanguine and raw. The freckles splashed across the bridge of his nose were clear and alluring, his big brown eyes sparkling.

This was a dream, Richie realized. A dream of a memory.

He remembered lying in bed all morning because neither of them had anything urgent to do which unfortunately hadn’t been happening nearly enough. Richie had been busy with SNL and then with his new Netflix deal and the deadline was hurtling towards him too fast to see. Eddie’s limo business had been booming since the rise of social media and with it the infiltration of influencer events and popularity.

Richie realized that he had never missed Eddie more in his life as he did then, staring down at Eddie’s dream face flushed beneath him.

“Will you come back to me?” Richie asked, thumbing his hairline to reveal more freckles. Eddie’s eyes scanned his face, his lips turning down in a frown.

“Where have I gone?” he indulged.

“I don’t know,” Richie admitted quietly.

“I haven’t gone anywhere. I’m right here Richie.” He reached up and cupped the side of his face. Richie leaned into it, closing his eyes and nuzzling Eddie’s palm. “I’m right here,” Eddie whispered again.

“Then why can’t I find you?”

“I don’t know,” he laughed, “maybe because you never clean your glasses, you big dummy.”

Richie gave a wet laugh, turning to kiss the inside of Eddie's palm and then the inside of his wrist.

“I wish this was real,” Richie murmured. “I wish I’d gone with you.”

“Gone with me where?”

_Anywhere. Everywhere._

Instead of answering, Richie leaned down and kissed him. He pushed his lips forward, softly at first, and then shifted his mouth slightly, coaxing Eddie into opening up. Eddie parted his lips with a sigh and drew him closer by the nape of his neck. Richie opened his mouth wider, allowing Eddie to deepen the kiss which caused them both to moan with enthusiasm. Richie increased the intensity, desperate to be as close to Eddie as possible because he was afraid that when he woke up he’d lose this forever. He chased Eddie’s tongue for a few seconds and then sucked at Eddie’s bottom lip until Eddie was burning up underneath him, his erection prominent against Richie’s hip.

Richie drew Eddie closer with an arm underneath him. Eddie clung to him, his mouth leaving sloppy kisses on the side of his face as he surfaced for air because he still wanted to remain as close as possible.

“Can I have you?” Richie asked, his lips close to Eddie’s ear where he kissed the side of his temple.

“Yes,” he beamed. “You’ll always have me.”

Richie was overcome with emotions- jubilant and heartbroken all at once. A part of him wanted to stay there forever, engulfed in the fervency of the moment; lost in Eddie’s love.

Eddie drew back, fingers combing through Richie’s hair. He smiled lovingly at Richie.

“You have to wake up,” he said.

“What? Why?” He didn’t want to leave, the heat of Eddie’s body soothing; ethereal, and inviting. Eddie just continued to smile, his fingers light as a feather as they eased over his forehead.

“I love you,” Eddie said, like an unspoken promise.

Richie didn’t have time to answer. He tried to hold onto Eddie, to beg him to stay but the dream slithered away like water through cracks.

Richie jolted upright, his heart hammering in his chest. Slowly the world came to.

A flight attendant was standing over him, looking at him curiously. The sleeping medicine was still lingering inside his system so all he could do was stare back at her, his legs tingling. When he looked around, the rest of the plane was empty, staring at him with vacant eyes.

“Sir?” she asked, leaning forward as if she was inspecting him. “Do you need help?”

“Uh, no- no I’m alright,” Richie grumbled. His mouth felt like it was stuffed full of cotton. As he moved around sluggishly- his legs made of jelly the flight attendant was still lingering.

She kept staring, her hands fidgeting with the buttons on her uniform.

 _Jesus Christ, not now_ , Richie thought.

“I’m sorry,” she rushed, stepping forward, “but aren’t you-”

“Richie Tozier?” he finished. He couldn’t keep the sarcasm from slipping out. “No, I’m not. But I do get that a lot. We're both very handsome fellows so I get why it's so easy to get us mixed up. Now excuse me-” he tried to slip past her, his bag thrown over his shoulder.

She stepped in front of him, blocking him from leaving.

“Look, lady-” Richie exhaled.

“He’s in the house on the corner of Neibolt street. It's waiting for him, ready to eat,” she rhymed, her eyes glassy and unfocused.

"What?" Richie’s heart dropped to his feet. 

“The turtle watches over him, but it’s starting to look grim,” she whispered sadly. Then she turned, revealing the back of her skull. It was hollowed out, pink and fleshy. Inside, a visible energy pulsed and throbbed like a heartbeat.

“Wait!” Richie yelled, trying to catch her sleeve but he stumbled forward. Suddenly he was falling through the floor, sloshing through a thick layer of darkness.

Richie startled awake, this time for real.

His heart was thrashing about inside his chest. He gasped for air, struggling to breathe. He gripped the armrest until his knuckles turned white and popped.

The plane wasn’t empty this time. A few people were gathering their carry-ons and neck pillows, ready to leave.

A different flight attendant came waltzing down the aisle. Her short blonde hair swayed side to side as she approached.

She smiled at Richie as she walked by and her attention was easily carried elsewhere as she checked between the seats and aisles.

Richie scrubbed a hand down his face, his hands trembling.

By the time he made it off the plane, Stan and Mike had already arrived according to the texts they had sent him twenty minutes ago.

He spotted Mike easily, his tall broad shoulder and neatly clipped hair beckoning him closer. They were sitting at a remote coffee table, steaming cups of something held between them. Stan leaned over and whispered something to Mike that had him nodding in agreement.

“I know where Eddie is,” Richie announced as he approached. He scraped out a chair and threw himself down, his body aching and sore.

“The Neibolt house,” Stan whispered, his eyes cast downwards, staring into his cup.

“You saw her?” Richie asked, leaning forward in his seat. “The flight attendant?”

“We both did,” Mike clarified.

“How the _fuck_ did she get in our heads? Who is she?” Richie's hand went to the back of his head on impulse, feeling the hard surface of his skull. “And Neibolt- that sounds familiar but I can’t remember. It’s like- it’s right there but once I have it, it disappears.”

“That’s...that’s where It is,” Stan added, his voice wavering.

Richie stared at him. There were dark circles under his eyes, revealing the thin almost transparent skin with veins traveling underneath. Under the collar of his shirt, Richie could see the purple-yellow splotches of a bruise.

“Stan,” Richie sucked in a breath. Stan saw where Richie was looking and drew his shoulder up as if to shield himself. “What the fuck, man?”

“It’s back, Richie,” Mike informed.

“Who’s back?” he turned to Mike.

“ _It_ ,” he repeated. “It’s back.”

Memories came knocking and Richie opened the door so they could shove their way through.

Richie saw the quarry. The Losers, shrieking with laughter as they jumped off the cliff, the rocks and pebbles scraping the bottom of their feet. He saw Bill’s silver bike abandoned in the middle of the street and Stan’s parked neatly upright among them. Then they came running down the steps of Neibolt, Eddie cradling his broken arm-

“Fuck,” Richie sighed his face quivering with the onset of tears. “ _Fuck._ ”

“Yeah,” Mike agreed.

“How the fuck did we forget about that piece of shit _murderous_ fucking clown,” he looked from Mike then to Stan as if they would have the answers. “Do the others remember?”

Mike shook his head.

"I don't think so," he said.

"At least not yet, but they will," Stan added.

 _It_. IT.

“Eddie,” Richie gasped. He jumped from his chair, pacing back and forth as panic took over. He stared back at his friends. “If It’s back that means It has Eddie. Eddie’s in danger! He’s-”

“Richie,” Stan’s voice cut him off, “you need to calm down.”

“Calm down?” Richie exploded with anger. “Fuck, Stan! It’s _back_ and Eddie’s missing- that's not a coincidence- and you want me to calm down? For all we know, Eddie could already be dead and we’re here in fucking Bangor doing nothing. _Nothing_!”

“Richie-”

“God, I’m _so_ fucking stupid!” he yelled. “I told him it was a bad idea to go- I _told_ him. I should have gone with him. I should have been there to protect him from-”

“Richie, shut up!” Stan shouted.

Richie snapped out of it. Stan’s face was flushed with anger and it made Richie sit down, tail between his legs.

People were staring at them, no doubt taking pictures and videos of Trashmouth Tozier having a mental fucking breakdown in the middle of an airport.

Stan leaned over the table, his eyes stern.

“Listen to me,” he warned. “Eddie isn’t dead. The women in our heads told us where to find him. She said there was someone there protecting him.”

“Who? Who could possibly be there to look after him?”

“I think I have an idea,” Mike offered. “It may sound ridiculous but I've been thinking a lot and it’s all I have.”

Stan and Richie stared at him in question.

“Ok,” he sucked in a large breath. “Do you remember what my grandfather believed- about Derry? He thought that all bad things that happened in Derry- the racism, the children going missing without a trace, even parents acting indifferent and cold- were because of _one_ evil thing. It. It is the darkness that hangs over Derry. But we know that there can’t be darkness without light. That means that there’s something out there _right now_ watching over Eddie.”

“When we fought It,” Stann started, “I remember there being nothing _but_ darkness. That whole summer was filled with nothing but darkness. So what's changed?"

“Nothing's changed, Stan that’s the thing. You see, it couldn't have been all dark. We fought It and we were just a bunch of kids, but we were able to fight It regardless of the odds stacked against us. There had to have been something looking out for us that summer, and I bet it's the same thing that's watching over Eddie right now.”

“Well- obviously we didn't fight back hard enough if It’s back,” Richie pointed out. There was too much to focus on, his brain felt like it was being fried like an egg. 

“I think,” Mike hesitated, “that there was something there with us that summer. On the plane, I kept getting all these- these memories of something watching us, protecting us. It was-”

“‘The turtled watches over him’,” Stan murmured. His eyes shot up. “That’s what she said- the lady on the plane. ‘The turtle watches over him.’”

Another memory resurfaced. The cool water of the quarry opening up as Richie jumped in. Eddie sitting on his shoulders, trying to shove Bill into the water but Mike was stronger and refused to lose. Then Eddie was falling, dragging Richie with him, and when he resurfaced with a scream- _Something just touched me! Something just touched my fucking leg- Richie it’s not funny I swear!_ \- Ben was swimming over to them with a tiny turtle sitting in the palm of his hand shiny and speckled with brown. _It was just a turtle, Eddie. See, it can’t hurt you._

Richie remembered a surge of energy flowing through, swinging a baseball bat at It with zero hesitation or fears.

“Richie!” Beverly’s voice chimed. They all turned to see her bounding towards them, her cheeks bright and her hair long like fiery locks haloed around her face.

Richie was on his feet before his brain could register it. He pulled her into a tight hug. He could smell the vanilla in her hair.

She pulled away and smiled at him, her eyes loving and supportive. She turned towards the other, hands on her hips.

“Well,” she smirked, “get up and give me a hug you guys, jeez.”

Mike stood up first and folded her into a hug. She almost disappeared, Mike was so tall and wide. Then Stan reached over and hugged her, less enthusiastic but Richie didn’t sit on that observation for too long.

Bev sat down, throwing her hair over her shoulder. She leaned over and grabbed Richie’s hands. His fingers engulfed hers.

“Still no word?” she asked.

“You saw us die,” Stan spoke before Richie could respond.

Richie watched Bev and saw the blood drain from her face. Her grip on Richie’s hand slackened. Mike watched Stan who was staring intently at Beverly.

“What?”

“You saw us _die_?” Richie shrieked but was entirely ignored. He stared at Mike and they both shared a look of concern.

Did that mean they saw Eddie’s death? Did they see the exact moment that he would take his last breath? Was it the Neibolt House on this very day? Or was it sometime in the future?

“The- the lights,” Stan expanded. “They showed you the future.”

Bev placed a hand over her mouth. Her fingers were shaking.

“I don’t-”

“I saw it too,” Stan sympathized. “The lady from my father’s painting, that’s how I saw it. I just didn’t remember until now.”

“You saw us die to? Are you _shitting_ me right now?”

“Richie,” Stan warned. Apparently it wasn't the right time to question his best friend after he just casually mentioned that he’d seen how all his other friends were going to bite the dust.

Bev looked at Stan, Mike, then Richie.

“Bev,” Mike pulled her attention back to him, “It’s back.”

“ _No,_ ” Bev rushed. “We- we killed It. We-”

Richie watched the familiar expression dance across her face, memories likely flowing in and out of her mind. Richie squeezed her hand, a small gesture of understanding.

“Eddie,” she said, shocked, her eyes wide.

Then, Bill came rushing towards them. He waved at them, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. He came up to Mike, hands on his shoulders as he leaned over him to give him a chaste kiss. Instead of pulling out his own chair, he propped himself on Mike’s thigh and slung an arm over his shoulder.

Richie’s heart ached, looking at them. He longed for Eddie, to fell him beneath his fingertips. 

“I called the Derry police,” Bill announced, “and they said they’d stop by Mrs. K's house to check up on them.”

“It’s back,” Stan informed him. _God_ , he'd never stop shaking after hearing those words. 

Bill’s face twitched. He looked down at Mike, who nodded his head in affirmation.

“Um,” he coughed. He stood up abruptly, one hand on his hip and the other covering his mouth. He pointed at Richie like he was about to say something but then fell quiet.

“Hey,” Mike tried to pull him to his side, but Bill stepped back shaking his head.

“We killed It,” Bill nearly shouted.

They all looked around, making sure they weren’t drawing any unwanted attention. “We really need to stop saying that in the middle of the airport,” Richie commented.

“We killed It,” he repeated, ignoring Richie. He stared at Mike.

“We thought we did,” Mike said.

“Is Eddie-”

“Yes,” Richie was quick to say, already knowing what his question would be.

Bev’s phone dinged.

“It’s Ben. He’s out front with the rental. We should go,” she ushered.

“Wait,” Bill stepped in. “We don’t even know- what’s our plan?”

“We can figure one out on our way there, but right now our only plan should be getting to Eddie in time before It does,” Stan said.

With that, they sprung into action.

* * *

In the car- a massive polished SUV because of course, it had to be an SUV- they debriefed Ben on everything. They told him about the mysterious woman with the imposing energy telling Richie, Stan, and Mike about Eddie’s whereabouts; the re-emergence of It and the dark intense power that they forgot all about for twenty-seven years and they even told him about the possible turtle.

“I think I’m going to throw up,” Stan told them, crammed in the back seat with Richie even though Richie was far too tall to be shoved into such a tiny space.

“Hey, hey,” Richie soothed. He rubbed circles over Stan’s back where he was hunched over, his head between his knees. “Just breathe man. Breathe.”

“I can’t do this,” he choked. “There’s a reason my mind blocked it all out. It didn’t _want_ me to remember. I’m not strong enough for this.”

“Stan,” Bev said, twisting around in the passenger seat to try and get a look at him. “We’re stronger together, remember? We fought It when we were just kids. Try to remember how brave we were.”

Ben looked back through the rearview mirror, his face encouraging.

“I’m going to drag you guys down,” he cried. “I’m going to get you all killed.”

“No, S-stan,” Bill spoke. Richie could feel all their shock as Bill’s stutter came back to life but they didn’t draw attention to it. “If we don’t go in together, we’ll all die. B-Bev’s right. We were just kids, yet we were stronger than any adults that we kn-knew.”

Richie kept rubbing circles on his back.

“We won’t let anything happen to you,” Ben said from the driver’s seat. His words carried through the car and they all hummed in agreement.

“We’re in this together,” Mike promised. “We’ll protect each other, that way no one can get hurt.”

Stan nodded, taking in a deep breath. 

After that, it was quiet. The tires rolled over asphalt, carrying them through the “Welcome to Derry” sign. They all held their breath as the magnetic pull that was It- Derry- sank deep into their memories.

They never heard back from the Derry police, which Richie wasn’t all too surprised about. No doubt It had the cops dancing on puppet strings, doing only what It wanted when It wanted it. Control the people who are supposed to protect the community, and It had a feasting ground the size of thirty buffets with no one there to try and stop It.

They first drove past the address that Eddie had given Richie before he left. It was the location of Sonia's new house. When they pulled up, the world around Richie titled on its axis and this time Richie was the one who felt like he was about to blow chunks all over the back seat. It was an empty lot, devoid of life. Panic set in immediately.

“Guys?” Richie fret. “Guys what the _fuck_?”

Everything after that became a blur of street signs and vaguely familiar cul de sacs flashed by as they sped towards the Neibolt house, the last place they were hoping to find themselves parked in front of.

It looked no different from when they were kids. The same ash wood drooping into a sad frown and the same front yard running wild with vicious-looking plants. There was a car parked out front and Richie knew exactly who parked it there, his heart breaking every five seconds as horrible thoughts came and went.

Before Richie knew what was happening, all six of them were standing outside the titled fence of the house, staring at its ominous walls and gaping mouth of a front door.

There were only two flashlights in the car's emergency kit. One was given to Richie, obviously, and the other to Ben.

Together, the climbed the creped old steps and were swallowed by the beast.


	12. Do You Trust Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every step he took reminded him why he couldn’t give up. Every time he stopped to double-check he was headed in the right direction- Eddie’s rattling breath ghosting over the back of his neck, his chest rising and falling less frequently- was enough to push on through the burn of his muscles, the searing pain in his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: brief violence, mentions of Beverly's father, brief description of gore

Memories guided them through the house.

They were cemented together, navigating the tired old halls one step at a time. They were halfway to the basement when things turned ugly.

 _“Bevvy,”_ someone whispered. “ _Bevvy.”_

They all whirled around, the eerie sound of her father’s voice crawling towards them.

Beverly stuck to Ben’s side, her back to his front; hands clutching the fabric of his shirt to make sure he didn’t slip away.

“Remember,” Ben blurted, “it’s not real.”

Beverly nodded, turning away from the sound.

“ _Billy,_ ” a child cried.

They all froze in their tracks.

 _Not this,_ Richie thought. _Don’t use him._

“Georgie?” Bill called breaking free from their tight circle. Mike grabbed him as he wandered towards an open door at the end of the hall and drew him back. Bill stared up at him, his brows pinched together. “It’s G-Gor-Georgie, Mike,” he said in a small plea.

“Hey,” Mike drew his attention away from the door. A figure dashed through the door, a blur of yellow. “It’s not Georgie, Bill. It’s messing with you.”

“But-”

“Bill,” Richie scolded, “we have to _go_. We have to find Eddie.”

Eventually, Mike was able to pull Bill along.

Stan clutched the back of Richie’s shirt, never once straying out of sight.

They came to a halt. The door leading to the basement was cracked and peeling and loomed in front of them like a dangerous warning sign of something awful about to come.

Ben opened the door.

The basement was filled with water, the well in the center of the room rising above the murky water like a lighthouse in the dark. Inside the well was It, Its' yellow eyes glowing.

“Shit,” Stan cursed, burying his head between Richie's shoulder blades.

Bill was already taking off, splashing down the stairs. He was waist-deep when he turned around, seeing if the others were following. Then, a bunch of hands breached the surface and dragged Bill under; the water swallowing him.

“Bill!”

It guffawed, before disappearing down the well.

The others dove after him. Richie dived beneath the water and he could feel slimy hands clawing at him on his way down. He tried to navigate his way through the dark muddy water but it was impossible to see, even with the amber glow of his flashlight. He resurfaced, gasping for air and shaking his hair out of his face. Mike came back up for air and then immediately plunged below again. He saw Bev and Ben, but no Stan.

Richie turned towards the top of the stairs.

Stan was there, shellshocked. He was ankle-deep in the water, his hands gripping the stairwell.

“Stan,” Richie called, “get down here.”

“I can’t,” Stan cried weakly. He took a step back, his eyes wide with fear.

“Stanley!” Richie yelled.

It appeared behind him, hand covering his mouth and dragging him up the stairs. The door slammed shut, covering them in darkness except for the light from their flashlights piercing through the water.

“Stan!” Richie trudged his way back up the stairs. He tried to fling the door open, but the knob wouldn’t budge. He beat against it with his flashlight.

Behind him, the others jumped through the water, dragging Bill with them.

“Guys!” Richie screamed, “It has Stan.”

* * *

Stan felt something sneak up behind him. Before he could react, he was being drawn backward, the door slapping closed in front of his face.

It dumped him on the ground and then jumped on top of him. A wicked smile spread across Its’ face.

“Time to float,” It babbled.

Its’ face split wide open and Stan felt a pull towards the pulsing energy of light. For a moment, his fear subsided and relief flowed over him like water over a smooth surface.

Then he was yanked out of, snapping back into his body.

A spear-like object was protruding out of the side of Its' face, his eye-popping out if its socket. It screamed, low and deep. It swung around, lashing out at whoever wounded him. It twitched and jerked before sagging forward and reeling towards a vacant room and disappearing.

“Stan,” someone yelled. Richie? Ben?

“Come one,” he heard someone say. “Come on, Stan the Man.”

Richie’s face came into focus, his hair dripping and glasses cracked.

“We don’t die like this,” Stan heard himself say.

Richie’s brows pinched together.

“None of us die like this,” he repeated.

“That’s really great to hear, Bud, but we have to go. Like right now,” he ushered.

Stan was pulled to his feet and then they were headed back down the creaking stairs of the basement. The water was gone, revealing the dusty cold cement of the floor.

Ben was leaning over the well, tying a rope around the arching top before letting it drop down into the black abyss.

“Hey,” Richie grabbed his attention. He snapped his fingers in front of his face. “Listen, I know you’re scared but now is not the time to pussy out, ok? Now you know what happens when we aren’t together- It wins. It _wins_. Do you understand?”

Stan felt himself nod.

“Good, now get your ass down that well.”

Richie was the last to slide down the well.

When he hit the ground, the others were waiting for him. The winding tunnels were all too familiar and the six of them carved their way around sharp edges and shrinking caves.

When they emerged around a curved corner, a figure was illuminated by Richie’s flashlight.

It was Eddie.

Eddie raised his hand, squinting around the intrusion of light. His other hand holding a baseball bat in a loose grip.

“Eddie?” Richie cried. “Eddie!” Richie ran forward.

Eddie jerked back and swung the bat at Richie when he got closer.

“Whoa! Fuck, Eddie. Hey, hey!” Richie jumped back just in time.

“You’re not fucking real,” Eddie gasped, slumping forward.

“Eddie,” Richie whispered, edging forward with caution, “it’s me. Eddie-”

“Bullshit,” Eddie laughed, his head hanging between his shoulders. “I’m not scared of you.”

“Eddie?” Mike’s voice drifted towards them. “Richie, be careful. It could-”

“No,” Richie snapped. “It’s Eddie.”

“Richie,” Bev whispered, “just be careful.”

Suddenly, Eddie collapsed forward falling into a puddle of water.

“Eddie!” Richie didn’t have time to move.

It sprang out of nowhere, landing in front of Eddie. “Beep, beep, Richie.”

Richie dodged to the side, slamming into a rock with enough force to cause the world to momentarily go black.

There was a ringing in his ear and Richie had to shake his head like a dog, trying to get rid of it. He heard someone call his name, and he had to pull himself together despite the ache in his shoulder spreading through him, burning like hot coals against the skin.

Mike and Bill distracted It, screaming and physically assaulting It so Richie could get to Eddie.

He ran to Eddie's side and him onto his side.

“Jesus, fuck,” Richie hissed.

Eddie was a battered and bruised mess, a canvas of busted capillaries. His shirt was soaked with blood and Richie saw the gaping wound on his lower abdomen where a strip of his t-shirt was sopping up the mess. His belt was fastened around his lower leg and Richie could see the skin underneath was bloody and raw there too.

He pressed his head to Eddie’s chest, relieved to hear the rattling sound of his breath.

The commotion around him drowned out until it became white noise. All Richie could focus on was Eddie, there in the sewers; his chest rising and falling, warm beneath Richie’s hand.

Stanley dropped down next to him, out of breath. “Is he-”

“He’s still breathing,” Richie gushed. He glanced back and saw Ben and Bev working together, smacking It over the head with various make-shift weapons they found discarded on the ground.

Mike and Bill were on Its’ other side, side by side; shoulder to shoulder.

“How the fuck are we supposed to get past It,” Richie glowered. “We need to get Eddie to a hospital, like, as of yesterday.”

Stan glanced back for a beat of a second, before turning back to Richie. His eyes fell on Eddie and something akin to range passed over them.

“Do you trust me?” Stan asked, his eyes searching Richie’s face.

“Of course,” Richie said without missing a beat.

“In the deadlights-” ah, that’s why they called them, “-I saw how this was all supposed to end but we’ve already strayed from that path. Nothing that I saw has happened yet. It’s weak too; It’s _starving_. When we were kids, we cut Its’ feast short. It woke up a ravenous, but look,” he nodded towards the disturbing tower of kids’ memorabilia in the distance, “there are no floating children. It hasn’t eaten, which means It’s nearly powerless.”

“So what, It missed the two for one buffet one time and now It doesn't have any powers?"

"Listen. Richie-"

"It's not as powerful, maybe, but It can still rip our faces off just by looking at us.”

There was a crash in the background, someone being thrown against a rock, and if Richie dared look over he knew what he saw would cause him to doubt that they’d ever actually make it out alive or all together.

“There’s a tunnel,” Stan informed, “that we passed by on our way down. It’s small enough for us all to fit through but it’ll be a tight fit. If we can lure It there we can trap It. There’s a boulder at the top that we can- we can push it in front, like a door and seal It in and if we can do that we can buy ourselves some time. It won't have enough strength to push his way out, at least not for a while.”

“But _we_ will?” Richie doubted. “It may be weak but- what if it turns Itself into a giant fucking Rhino and busts Its’ way out? And how the fuck will we be able to push a giant rock around?”

“There’s six of us and one of It and It’ll be too weak to shapeshift. It hasn’t physically shapeshifted _once_ since we’ve been down here. Trust me,” he begged, his eyes pleading. "It's getting weaker and this is our only chance."

Richie looked down at Eddie- the rise and fall of his chest- and knew he could never live with himself if he didn’t do everything he could in order to save him, to save all the others.

“Lets fucking do this,” Richie declared.

Richie slung Eddie over his shoulders, holding one arm and leg in each hand to keep him in place.

“Do you remember how to get back to the well?”

Richie nodded.

“Once you get there, turn left. It’s the tunnel on the left, remember that ok?”

Richie ran for the hills- or really the tunnels. He ran through the tunnels.

Every step he took reminded him why he couldn’t give up. Every time he stopped to double-check he was headed in the right direction- Eddie’s rattling breath ghosting over the back of his neck, his chest rising and falling less frequently- was enough to push through the burn of his muscles, the searing pain in his shoulder.

When he reached the mouth of the tunnel, he nearly collapsed.

He laid Eddie down and then shrugged out of his jacket, placing it on the ground. He rolled Eddie on top of it. He crouched in front of the jacket and used it to help pull Eddie through the small entrance of the tunnel; crouched down low and ignoring the rocks that sliced at his back and shoulders.

The tunnel opened up into a larger one, connecting it to the other ones that led to the outside world.

The boulder Stan talked about, was fucking huge. A flicker of doubt ignited.

“This better fucking work, Stanley,” Richie said out loud.

Minutes later the others came crawling up the tunnel. Richie moved Eddie out of the way and reached down to help pull them up one by one.

When he grabbed Ben’s hand last, It was at the end of the tunnel. It had a spider claw that was thrashing around and It nearly caught Ben’s leg before he and Mike could yank him up.

"Come out and _play_ , Losers," It wailed.

They all scrambled to their feet, dashing around the boulder to get ready.

“Believe you can do it,” Bev encouraged. “Believe you have the strength.”

 _Richie would believe in anything to save Eddie- to save them all_ , he thought. It came barreling towards them.

“Push!” Mike yelled.

It all happened in slow motion. The six of them gathered all the mental and physical strength they had and pushed. The rock moved like butter on a warm pan, a smooth effortless slide.

Its’ claw slipped through but the rock slid over it, crushing It. Its’ claw flaid about. They stared at It for a second before turning back to Eddie.

* * *

They made it out of the house, Eddie slung over Richie’s shoulders as they bounded down the steps two at a time.

Richie was seated in the middle row of the car, Eddie spread out over the seats with his head in Richie's lap.

Richie’s hand hovered over his wound. All at once, it started to bleed. Blood gushed out, soaking the fabric until thick streams pooled around him and dripped onto the seat.

Eddie's leg jerked violently.

He shot up, nearly hitting Richie in the face where he was leaning over him.

“Whoa!” Richie lurched out of the way.

The car swerved slightly before Ben gained control again.

“Eddie?” Everyone seemed to shout at the same time.

Eddie looked down at his wound, hand cupped underneath it as if he was trying to catch the flow of blood. He whimpered in pain.

“She fucking _stabbed_ me,” Eddie cried. Then he passed out, falling back into Richie’s arms.

“Ben, man, you gotta step on it,” Richie urged.

They flew down the streets, tires screeching.

They ran through the hospital doors, voices frantic and unintelligible as they beckoned for help.

Somewhere along the way, Eddie was taken away and Richie dropped to his knees in the middle of the entryway. Someone was asking him questions but their voice came to him through a fog.

Suddenly, the stark white walls of the hospital turned black and Richie slipped under the darkness until it covered him like a blanket.


	13. It's Not Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was starting to become very intimate with the darkness as its obscure hands plucked him out of the light and into the murky black abyss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: description of Eddie's injuries, medical talk of surgeries, dry heaving/throwing up

Eddie dreamt of an all-consuming chasm that was midnight black; empty and lonely. Something brushed against his arm as he floated through the obsidian velvet womb of the unknown. He couldn’t see what it was, but he could imagine the rough calloused surface of an enormous Loggerhead sea turtle, its face mottled with hickory spots like the dense heavy surface of wood. An electric shock spread through him and instead of darkness, a blinding white light poured over him.

The dream spit him up, regurgitating him until he was able to slink through the inky black curtain into the other side.

The first thing Eddie was aware of was the smell.

It smelt like something had been saturated in alcohol. It was an oddly evocative scent. Then Eddie heard Richie’s unmistakably rich voice as it seeped through the fog.

Eddie peeled his eyes open. He could feel the crust in the corner of his eyes as he tried to hone in on Richie, desperate to see his face.

The image of zombie Richie waged through his mind; squirming maggots and concave flesh.

Eddie tried to calm his breathing, his chest exploding with pain. If he could just get up- why couldn’t he move?- and grab something to fight with then he could escape. But his body was weak. He tried to move his hand towards his wound to check the bleeding but it was like all his weight was sinking through the floor. He tried to move his legs but it seemed like something heavy was sitting on top of him.

“Eddie?” Richie's voice reached him. “Eddie, baby, calm down.”

His breathing accelerated and he felt like his diaphragm was about to collapse and cave in on him.

“Please, Eddie,” Richie pleaded. “Breath for me.”

 _Don’t fall for it,_ Eddie told himself. _It’s trying to trick you._ But this Richie sounded remarkably real; his voice melodic and reassuring.

 _What if I trusted him_ , Eddie wondered. _Would I finally be at peace? Would the pain stop?_

A wave of tranquility wrapped around him like a coiling snake. The darkness returned, and this time he truly was all alone.

* * *

The next time Eddie woke up, a wave of nausea cut through him. For a second, he feared he would throw up, and then he remembered he was on his back and the panic set in. What if he choked on his vomit? Wouldn’t that be a lousy way to die?

He tried to turn on his side but a stinging throbbing ache of intense discomfort shot down his side.

When the pain subsided, he laid there focusing on the rise and fall of his chest. Though there was a dull ache in his chest it was comforting knowing that he could breathe without too much difficulty. The pain on his side was likely coming from the stab wound, he resolved. What was less comforting, was being unable to move his legs.

He tried to lift his right leg. Pins and needles danced up his leg until it reached the inside of his thigh.

That wasn’t a good sign.

How long had he been laying there on the cold dark surface of Its’ lair? And where _was_ It? Maybe he was waiting for the right moment to strike when he knew Eddie would finally crumble under the intensifying fears of infection and death.

Eddie heard voices through all his distress and anxiety.

“Mr. Tozier,” a mellow voice was saying, “I know you’re worried about you husband- you want to be by his side- but if you don’t let us look at your shoulder-”

“Broken bones heal on their own all the time, doc,” Richie said, his tone smug. “I’ll be fine.”

Eddie realized two things. He was most definitely in a hospital- which explained the smell- and Richie knew _nothing_ about broken bones. Eddie wanted to get up and smack him in the back of the head. Broken bones were serious. If Richie refused an x-ray he-

“Mr. Tozier,” the woman spoke more firmly, “if there’s swelling that we can’t see, your pain could worsen and-”

“Look,” Richie’s voice was surprisingly serious, “I appreciate your concern I really do, but I’d have to be dead or dying before anyone can get me to leave this room. I’m not going anywhere. Not until he wakes up.”

 _You idiot,_ Eddie thought.

The doctor sighed. “Will you at least allow a nurse to come in and do a physical exam?”

That must have been the end of the conversation because silence dangled in the air. Eddie prayed Richie had agreed. He seriously wanted him to go and get an x-ray, but Eddie _did_ feel more at ease with the physical examination being done rather than having Richie avoidably dodge a serious injury. This seemed a little too elaborate to be It. Which meant...This was real. Richie was _real_.

He couldn't wait to see Richie. He couldn't wait. 

This time, Eddie felt less inclined to fight the darkness as it shrouded over him.

* * *

Eddie was very aware of his surroundings the next time he woke up. White walls. The smell of disinfectant spray. Machines whispering.

Eddie blinked away the remnants of sleep. Over time the world took shape; the sheets tangled at his feet, the pillows propping him up slightly. His chest felt tender and sore but other than that he didn’t _feel_ any pain. He still couldn’t move his legs though.

He peered down the length of his body and nearly passed out.

Under his right knee was the wound. A large clear sticker was placed over the worst of it. Through the sticky plastic, Eddie could see the protruding bone, stark white against his tan leg. The skin surrounding the open wound was vermilion, puffy, and bright.

Eddie’s heart beat wildly against his bruised ribs.

He gripped the sheets, struggling to catch his breath when pain ignited across his palm. _So much for not feeling any pain_ , he thought. He must have had stitches in his palm from the glass cutting too deep. The memory of being held down in that house- it ripped through him violently. He felt like he couldn't breathe. 

He focused on his left leg to distract himself. He was able to move it, feeling the cool sheets beneath his calf. _This is good,_ he told himself. 

There was a small creak on his left side and Eddie turned to see Richie slumped over in a chair, sleeping. His shirt was unbuttoned down the front. Inside, Eddie could see his arm was packaged inside an elaborate looking arm sling, with his hand dangling from a small pocket in the front.

Eddie stared at his bare chest, the dark hair and soft stomach where he was crunching forward, familiar and calming.

 _This is Richie_ , he nearly cried, with his bad posture and wide chest; his long legs and glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose.

Eddie tried to say his name, but it came out groggy like something was caught in the back of his throat.

He swallowed, his mouth dry and salty.

“Richie,” he croaked. “Richie.”

He jolted awake, almost frantically.

Suddenly he was right by Eddie’s side, hovering over him like a shadow of protection.

“Hey,” he whispered, his voice quivering. He smoothed some of Eddie’s hair back, tracing his eyebrow with the tip of his finger. His eyes roamed over Eddie’s face as if he was seeing him for the first time after years apart.

How long _had_ it been?

“Hi,” Eddie said, his voice raspy.

“Hi,” Richie smiled.

“I think my leg’s broken,” he hastened, slurring his words as he stared down at the mangled mess. “Do they know my leg’s broken?”

Of course they know, he tried to tell himself- they were doctors- but his mind was lagging like a glitch on a computer.

“Yeah,” Richie sighed, “they know. They couldn’t perform surgery yet because-”

Richie stopped mid-sentence. He glanced down at Eddie’s leg, his brows worried together. The way he was staring at his leg caused Eddie to shiver with fear. Something must have been wrong. 

“They’re gonna- cut my leg off,” Eddie realized, staring up at Richie, “because- I can’t feel my leg, so they're gonna- Richie, I can’t feel my leg. _Rich_ -”

“Whoa,” Richie was saying but Eddie could only focus on his leg, the open wound gawking at him, “you’re leg is fine, Eddie I swear-”

The next thing Eddie knew, he was dry heaving into a vomit bucket, his fingers curled around the plastic edges.

Richie was above him, rubbing Eddie’s back with the knobs of his knuckles in smooth circles. The pain in his abdomen peaked, and it caused him to start vomiting for real, the bitter sour taste of mostly stomach acid making him even sicker.

“He said he couldn't feel his leg,” Richie was suddenly talking to someone. He sounded alarmed.

“Lay him on his back. He needs to be on his back,” an unfamiliar voice echoed, and then Richie was gone and Eddie wanted to scream for him to come back but the darkness was closing in on him too fast to fight it.

* * *

Eddie woke to a strange woman standing at the end of his bed. She was just slipping a clipboard over the railing when she noticed him staring. He tried to look away, but his eyes were slow and heavy in his head.

“Mr. Kaspbrak,” she spoke. She was wearing a white doctor’s coat with baby blue scrubs underneath. She had several stickers stuck to the bottom of her shirt, Eddie noticed. She was very pretty, her long dark hair tied back in a braid that sat on her shoulder and traveled down her hips. She had olive skin and light brown eyes that pinned Eddie in place. “Can I ask you some questions?”

Eddie must have nodded because she was walking over to him, sitting carefully on the edge of his bed, facing him.

“Can you tell me your full name and birthday?”

“Edward,” he managed through a dry throat, “Franklin Kaspbrak, September third, 1976.”

“Good,” she smiled, “now can you tell me what year it is?”

“2016,” he said.

“Very good,” she patted him on his upper thigh and then got to her feet, circling his bed. She came over to his injured leg and reached over to the end of the bed where there was a small pull out table. She pulled on some gloves and Eddie couldn't help but tract her movements. She leaned over and pulled the blanket off his feet. “Your husband told me that you mentioned that you couldn’t feel your leg?”

Eddie nodded and then whispered, “Yes. Are you- are you gonna have to amputate it?”

Her eyes caught his.

“No,” she assured, “your leg is very healthy. This here,” she traced the white edge of the sticker with her pointer finger, “is called a Semipermeable dressing. When a wound- like yours- is too large to stitch closed we use these dressing to help keep moisture and bacteria from entering the wound until we can perform the necessary surgery.”

“It doesn’t look healthy,” Eddie pointed out. “How do you know it’s healthy?”

“Well, there’s no sign of infection, miraculously, given where you acquired this injury,” Eddie would have to find out what Richie told the doctors and nurses, a feeling of dread eating him up inside, “and no sign of thickening nerve tissue either. So far it looks great, given the circumstances.”

“Why can’t I feel my leg then?”

“I think it was the morphine,” she suggested. “Sometimes too much can cause numbness or a tingling sensation.”

She leaned down and drew the bottom of her pen across the arch of Eddie’s foot. It tickled. “Can you feel that?”

“Yeah,” Eddied nearly cried. “Yeah, it tickles.”

She laughed, “Just as I had thought, nothing to worry about.” She pulled the blanket over his feet, blocking out the cold.

“You had a penetrating injury to your abdomen and luckily, dare I say, your appendix was the only organ damaged with no other injuries sustained to the surrounding organs or blood vessels. We went ahead and removed your appendix, but we did find an abscess, so we made sure to drain the site using this,” she lifted a thin tub that was resting by his side. Eddie felt a small tug on his hip and realized it was attached _to_ him. “It’s called a drainage catheter, no stitches, or major care required. This will stay in until the fluids coming out of the site are clear and then we’ll be able to remove it.”

Eddie stared at her, not knowing what to say.

“I know this is a lot to take in,” she acknowledged, “but so far you’re recovering well, which makes my job a lot easier. Probably by tomorrow, we will be able to perform the external fixation, which basically means we’ll be placing screws around the fractured site to stabilize the broken bone. You also broke two ribs, but those should heal nicely on their own.”

“I,” Eddie breathed, trying to process all the information, “I- thank you?”

“Of course,” she nodded, “please don’t hesitate to notify a nurse- or me- if you feel any numbness or any severe pain. We'll be monitoring your morphine dosage. Remember not to move your leg- your husband said you're a deep sleeper so we shouldn't have to worry too much when you're resting.”

“Thank you again, uh-” Eddie didn’t remember if she had introduced herself yet.

“Dr. Anderson,” she smiled, her teeth beautifully white.

When she was disposing of her gloves, Richie came sneaking in. He caught sight of Eddie and his eyes lit up. Eddie didn’t let the worried look on his face slip past him though.

Dr. Anderson nodded to Richie as she moved past him out the door.

Richie walked into the room, standing awkwardly at the end of Eddie’s bed. His bandaged arm was bulging from underneath his shirt where Richie had haphazardly buttoned it up. His other arm hung by his side, lengthy like the rest of him.

“Hi,” Eddie gave a little wave.

“Hi,” Richie stalked across the room, pulling a chair to Eddie’s bedside so he could flop down into it. He took Eddie’s hand in his, large and warm against Eddie’s cold fingers. He stared down at their conjoined hands.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he murmured.

Eddie’s brain had been running slow since he woke up, so it took him a second to catch up with Richie’s words.

“What?”

“I should have known not to sit you up like that. I should have known better.”

“God,” Eddie grumbled, “you really _are_ an idiot.”

Richie looked up at him, sputtering at the insult.

“There’s no _way_ you could have known, you’re not a doctor,” Eddie said.

“I practically _live_ with one,” he jabbed, scratching the back of Eddie’s hand with the tip of his finger, “so I _should_ have known better.”

“I’m not a doctor."

“You’re subscribed to like, every online medical journal there is,” Richie said as if that could support his claim in any way.

“That doesn’t make me a doctor.”

“Uh, it kind of does, Eds.”

Eddie stared at Richie. His glasses were cracked, his eye shattered into tiny little eyes behind the frames. He looked tired but alert. Eddie longed to be close to him, to pull him down and wrap himself around him until he didn’t know where he began and Richie ended.

“It really was you,” Eddie stated out of the blue, remembering swinging a baseball bat at what he thought was It. “You were there and- and Mike?” Eddie nearly sat up before he remembered he needed to stay slightly elevated on his back and not sit up.

“We were all there,” Richie told him. “We felt you,” he turned over Eddie’s hand and traced the pink scar on his palm, “calling to us.”

“Is everyone- did they-”

“We all made it out, yeah,” he frowned. There was something bothersome written on his face, a flicker there, and gone in the blink of an eye.

“Then why,” Eddie pulled his hand away and poked the side of Richie’s face, “are you frowning?”

Richie stared at him, unwilling to give away his emotions. His eyes stared somewhere to the right of Eddie’s head.

“Richie?” Eddie poked him in the face again.

Richie’s jaw clenched, the muscles tense. Eddie went to poke Richie another time, but he caught his wrist while being annoyingly gentle. He turned Eddie’s hand to the side and kissed the delicate skin of his wrist. He dropped his hand back on the bed, covering it with his palm. Eddie’s hand disappeared under Richie’s.

“Richie?”

Richie hung his head low making a sound between a groan and a cry.

“Jesus,” he huffed. He lifted his head, shaking his hair out his face. His eyes were troubled. “Eds, listen-”

Images burst across Eddie’s vision. He knew he hadn’t experienced the memory fully, but somehow it was like he was being shown a surveillance clip of it, watching from behind a screen. He saw the Losers running through the sewers; Stan with his hands clutching the back of Richie’s shirt, Mike and Bill pressed close together and Ben and Bev supporting one another as they stumbled and fell. He saw himself, limp and unconscious draped over the back of Richie’s strong shoulders. Then he saw a boulder, rolling over the murderous face of It and then-

Darkness.

No death. No victory. No It. Except, It was-

“It’s still alive,” Eddie inhaled, the words scolding his mouth as they slipped out. Richie gave him a sad sorrowful look.

The notion that It was still out there- lurking the sewers under Derry until It found Its’ next victim- ready to feast made him shiver with fear. _This isn't how it was supposed to end,_ Eddie thought as he laid back against the rumpled sheets under the florescent lights of his hospital room. 

Grief hit him like a freight train. The pain of his mother’s gruesome death and the realization that he’d never know his father hit him all at once. The mental and physical pain that he endured for- how long, he wondered- trapped in Its’ unrelenting hold came crashing down on top of him. He felt his longing and worry for Richie pour out of him heavily. He so desperately wanted to crawl into Richie’s lap until Richie consumed him so they could become one. He felt a wave of worry for the others too, wondering where they were and what they were doing. It was all too much. 

“I think I’m gonna pass out,” he told Richie, already slipping under.

He was starting to become very intimate with the darkness as its' obscure hands plucked him out of the light and into the murky black abyss.


	14. Scout's Honor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His eyes found Richie, lounging back, his long legs stretched out in front of him. His glasses were pushed up into his hair, revealing a small cut on his forehead. He was holding his phone with his good hand, keeping it close to his face. His tongue was caught between his teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: (all brief mentions of) sexism, dieting, biphobia, religious talk, implied homophobia

Eddie was dreaming.

He was walking through complete darkness, only himself illuminated amidst the dark. He was treading through water, ankle-deep. Below the surface of the water, a giant sea turtle drifted underneath his feet, vast and refreshing. It was surprisingly not the weirdest dream Eddie's ever had.

Eddie's hospital gown was hanging loosely from his shoulders and when Eddie glanced down at his leg, there was no broken bone or peeling skin.

_Are you afraid?_

The voice was sonorous as if drifted around him, all-encompassing.

“No,” Eddie shouted to the darkness, “I’m not afraid.”

_Is there nothing that strikes fear in your heart; makes you tremble with dread?_

Honestly, there were a lot of things that came to mind. Losing Richie. Never seeing the Losers again. The always-present possibility of sickness and death overwhelming him.

_Are you afraid of something tangible, something you can kill?_

Eddie thought of It. But he wasn’t afraid of him anymore. He had beaten him once when he was baby faced and wild with youth. Then he beat him again- somewhat- before he even turned forty. If anything, Eddie was afraid of what It _could_ do because, in the end, It was just a fucking clown.

_It’s weak. Your friends figure that out and they were able to wound It. Temporarily. Now It sulks through the sewers, unable to surface and feast._

“Will It die,” Eddie asked, “eventually?”

_No. It will take more than a few blows to Its' head to keep it down for good._

Eddie ran forward, the water rising. He tried to follow the outline of the turtle, but it dove deeper into the blackness. He skidded to a stop, panting.

“How do we kill It? How do we kill It for good?” he yelled.

_You have to be afraid._

That didn’t make sense.

“But,” Eddie struggled to understand. Hadn’t his father told him to be _unafraid_ , to cut off Its' source of power? “He said I had to be unafraid. It feeds off our fear. If I’m afraid than It has something to eat. It can grow stronger _because_ I’m afraid.”

_You can’t kill It as It is, but you can kill your fears. You've already proved that._

Eddie thought of stumbling through different memories; touching a newborn calf, blood splattered across Bowers’ face.

_It’s not just your fears, Eddie. The others have their undefeated fears, some that can be slain._

Richie was still scared of werewolves, Eddie reminded himself. He refused to watch _Twilight_ when it first came out, not just because it was an atrocious film but also because characters literally ripped through their skin to transform into hungry wolves. Mike was scared of being burned alive. Ben was scared of spiders and Bev feared drowning and her father’s face that passed by her peripheral vision from time to time. Stan- Stan hated snakes especially the ones that preyed on birds and their unhatched eggs. Bill- what was Bill afraid of? Eddie felt like Bill was invisible.

_Everybody’s afraid of something...or someone._

Georgie.

Bill was scared of having to face the ghost of his dead brother, the guilt of not being able to save him from death- from It- a looming reminder of death and dying.

_You all have to be afraid. It will use the last of Its’ powers to try to win. All of you have to slay your fears, and in turn, you’ll be able to kill It._

Suddenly, the water began rising quickly.

_Be afraid._

Eddie tried to fight the current, but the water was rushing over him too fast. The water laved over him until he was drowning in darkness.

* * *

Eddie woke up with unexpected clarity.

His body had small aches and pains, but it wasn’t bad enough to be overwhelming.

His eyes found Richie, lounging back, his long legs stretched out in front of him. His glasses were pushed up into his hair, revealing a small cut on his forehead. He was holding his phone with his good hand, keeping it close to his face. His tongue was caught between his teeth.

“Fuck you Haystack,” Richie whispered.

 _Words with Friends_ , Eddie thought. Ben had a great vocabulary and it pissed Richie off. Nobody should know that many words. Eddie wondered where the others were.

Seeing Richie in such a familiar and normal state made his chest feel tight, not because of pain but because he longed for the simplicity that he was so used to.

“I know how to kill It,” Eddie announced.

Richie nearly dropped his phone on his face as he startled.

“Jesus, Eds,” he gathered himself, clicking off his phone and pocketing it. He scooted closer to Eddie's bedside, pushing his glasses down so he could see him clearly. “Hey.”

“I know how to kill It,” Eddie repeated. Richie’s face went through a series of emotions.

“The turtle told me,” Eddie clarified even though it made no sense, so how could it make sense to Richie? “He told me how we can kill It. For good this time.”

“That goddamn turtle, man,” Richie snorted. He scrubbed a hand down his face.

“Did he talk to you too?”

“Yeah- I think? On the plane, there was this woman. She said the turtle was watching over you. Stan and Mike saw her too.”

“He’s been watching over all of us.” He had no proof of that, but he felt the words were true. They tasted like a revelation.

Richie’s eyes lit up. “What did he tell you?”

“We have to be afraid,” Eddie said without wavering.

Richie’s eyebrows flew up, interest was written all over his face. That was probably the last thing he expected Eddie to say.

“Are you serious? Fear is what gives It power,” Richie reasoned.

“Only if he can _feed_ on it,” Eddie reminded him.

“So we’re supposed to be afraid for fun, then? Because the goal is to _not_ get eaten by a child-eating clown.”

“We have to be strong enough to kill our fears. We have to kill all of them and then we'll be able to kill It.”

Eddie thought of the leper. Keene’s pharmacy; his mother’s voice crying out to him behind a dirty tarp. Was Eddie strong enough to kill his fear? Were the others?

“And if we’re not strong enough?”

There was no world in which Eddie could live without Richie and no world that held joy without the others.

“That’s not an option.”

“Realistically, it has to be,” Richie told him. “What if one of us isn’t strong enough to kill whatever it is our fear is? We die, Eddie. Dead, with a capital d.”

“That’s not an option,” he repeated sternly.

The thought of any of them dying under the hand of It, especially when Eddie encouraged it, was so frightening it made his heart skip a beat.

“Well, news flash Eds- it has to be,” Richie nudged the side of his thigh with a closed fist. “And you- you’re not even well enough to pee on your own, how the hell do you expect to face a killer clown without two working legs.”

He knew Richie didn’t mean for the words to come out so viciously but he couldn’t help but flinch at the reality of them. He wasn’t wrong to say those things. Eddie really wasn’t well enough to be jumping in the ring with It. He could barely do it with both legs, let alone one. His hip throbbed as a reminder of his fragile state.

“Fuck off,” Eddie spat, a little too firm but the feeling of being looked down upon, especially by Richie, was enough to force a bit of anger out of him. “I fought that fucker down in the sewers all on my own. I can handle myself.”

Richie's face sunk with regret.

“Shit- hey,” Richie quickly leaned over, cupping the side of his face, forcing Eddie to look at him. His eyes were wet, glossed over with an apology. “That’s not what I meant. I didn’t- I know you’re strong as fuck, Eds but look at yourself. You’re hurt, and It doesn’t give a fuck about how strong you were three days ago-”

Had it been three days already, lying here in a hospital bed? How had Richie’s back not snapped by sitting in that awful plastic chair?

“-It only cares about what It can do to you _now_ and right now you have a fucking bone protruding from your leg and you’re missing a vital organ.”

“The appendix isn’t a vital organ," he couldn't refrain from pointing that out. 

Richie ogled at him. He leaned over and squished the side of his cheeks together to silence him, an annoyed look on his face.

“That’s not the point,” he huffed.

Eddie loved Richie so much it physically ached. He couldn’t live with himself if he let something as terrible as It hurt him. Or worse. Grief floated over him like a roaring grumbling rain cloud.

“I have a plan,” Eddie said but it sounded like “I haff a plan” because Richie was still squeezing his cheeks.

“One that involves you resting here in your hospital bed until you’ve recovered?” Richie hopefully suggested.

The idea was nice. Eddie was all for healing after a traumatic injury; letting your body repair cells and replenish blood. Did Eddie have to have blood donated to him? How much blood had he lost on the way to the hospital? He’d have to inquire about it at a more appropriate time.

Eddie couldn’t imagine lying in the safe confines of the ICU while It was still an imposing threat.

“If I sit here,” Eddie argued, “knowing that It’s still out there, I’d be knowingly putting you and everyone else in danger.” A dreadful thought surfaced. “All the children out there who are vulnerable to It, like we were when we were kids. It could be tearing apart some kid _right now_ and it’ll be my fault because I know how to stop it and I’m just sitting here on my ass.”

“You were stabbed, for fuck’s sake, Eds!” Richie shouted, his voice peaking with frustration. He didn’t even try to stay quiet. “Why _shouldn’t_ you be sitting on your ass- healing and gaining your strength back? Why do you always have to be the fucking hero?” Desperation flashed across his face, his eyes drooping with sadness. “Why can’t we just forget that It’s even down there? We can have you transported to Bangor Hospital and you can recover there, away from It. Hell, the moment we leave we'll probably forget It even exists and we finally be done with It.”

“You want to forget?”

Derry was a nightmare carved into Maine, but there were memories Eddie wished he hadn’t forgotten. Kissing Richie on the night of his eighteenth birthday, the stars glittering above.

Realizing he was attracted to boys for the first time and feeling powerful and brave like all boys should. Sinking into the water at the quarry, his friends by his side. Graduating with the Losers- Mike there to congratulate them, snapping pictures with the camera he had been saving up for for almost an entire year- smiles fanned across their faces. Why would he ever want to forget those memories? Once he had them, he couldn’t imagine letting them slip away again.

“Of course I want to fucking forget,” Richie gritted. “Nothing about this town makes me happy. Nothing except you and the Losers. Everyone else here can fuck off. I’m tired of watching the people I love put their lives on the line to save people who don’t deserve saving.”

Eddie knew it wasn't truly about the people, but about the town. About Derry and what it did to them when they were kids.

Eddie’s heart broke. There were bad memories, that wasn’t a secret. He remembered Mike, crying one day after school because he was afraid of liking boys _and_ girls and he didn’t want people to think he was an attention-seeking liar. He remembered Ben going on a crash diet at fourteen and losing ten pounds in two weeks; people gathering around him and telling him how good he looked when the others knew Ben had always looked good despite how much he weighed. He thought of Bill spending most nights at Richie’s house because his parents hardly noticed if he was home or not. He saw Beverly running down the halls of Derry High, tears streaming down her face as people pointed and laughed at the locker with SLUT written across the front in cherry red. Then Stan with his need to please his father and Richie, breaking his nose with a sickening crunch where Bowers shoved him into the pavement. Maybe the good memories couldn’t overshadow the bad ones, but those memories were from when they were children and that was such a long time ago.

“It’s not 1985 anymore, Richie. The people here have done nothing wrong to us. They don’t deserve to die,” he said. “ _It_ deserves to die and I know how to kill It.”

Richie stared at him for a long time, eyes traveling over his slender features. He picked up Eddie's hand and kissed his knuckles.

“How are you so brave?” Richie marveled.

“I have you watching my back,” Eddie said, his heart performing somersaults.

“What do we do then?” He pressed his lips to the back of Eddie’s hand, staring at him through heavy lids.

“You need to get the others.”

Eddie couldn’t wait to see them, to memorize their faces one at a time until he could never forget a single detail about any of them.

It wouldn't steal his memories this time around.

 _I'll protect you_ , Eddie thought, _all of you. Scout's honor_.


	15. Eddie Has a Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It remained at the end of the street, hidden in a storm drain waiting for the smell of fear.

Eddie ran into two problems.

The ICU only allowed two visitors at a time and Eddie didn’t have the energy to explain his plan three separate times. Also, Eddie was supposed to have his surgery on his leg that afternoon.

Soon after realizing that he didn't want to explain his plan individually to the Losers, he also realized that he ought to.

Eddie had already slept ten hours, which made him feel sorry for his well thought out schedule. Richie had been in and out of the room during that time; down to the cafeteria and constructing phone calls. The others were staying at the Derry Town House Inn. Apparently they had all visited Eddie during the first few days in the hospital, none of which Eddie can seem to remember to any degree. While Eddie was in the hospital, they were banding together to try and find as much information on It as possible. So far, according to Richie, they found jack shit.

A nurse came in to check on Eddie’s stitches and drainage catheter and also redressed his leg wound. His dosage of morphine masked the pain and Eddie only felt a slight flutter of discomfort. She emptied his catheter and Eddie tried not to wince as the tape tugged on the hair on the inside of his thigh. He had to turn his head away when her gloved hands moved under his gown, his face red with embarrassment. His IV was itching horribly too, but he decided not to comment. He didn’t want to complain because the nurses who cycled through his room were already doing more for him than he could have ever hoped for.

Richie came back in when the nurse was disposing of the garbage. He walked in with his head down, his free hand tapping away at his phone.

He had finally fixed his shirt. The bright yellow bananas looked strange, and Eddie realized it was because they were dolphins. Banana dolphins. His arm was still placed in the complex looking arm sling. Richie had dislocated his shoulder and broken his elbow, which he did eventually go and get x-rayed, much to his dismay and Eddie’s persistence.

He must have been texting Steve, Eddie guessed. The way his brows were crushed together and his mouth was turned down in the corners. Richie would have been in Manhattan at the HBO office, pitching his new television series. Instead, he was here drinking stale cups of coffee and sloppily made sandwiches.

Eddie worried about him. Had he brought his antidepressant with him? Was he taking it with breakfast? Had Richie _been_ eating breakfast? Had he been drinking enough water? Was he stretching out his legs so they didn’t get too stiff and achy?

Eddie hated being bound to his hospital bed. All he wanted to do was get up and go so he could kill It with his bare hands; turn back time so Richie could be in Manhattan, doing what he loved. He wanted his friends to go back to their lives. Stan needed to be with Patty, now more than ever. Had he told her the truth? Had he spoken to her, checking up on how she was holding up? Ben had projects in Colorado and Bill was supposed to be on a book tour. What was the internet saying about his absence? And Mike. School had just started, how could he afford to take time off so soon? He supposed Bev would be alright, her designs were already finished and ready to style. But she would still be missing out on her show; the pride and joy sucked out of her, stolen so she could be here in Derry fucking Maine to try and kill a killer clown who had been sleeping for the past twenty-seven years.

“When this is all over,” Richie spoke up, “I’m going to become a dentist, like good ol’ Wentworth Tozier. I’m going to lead a real simple life. I’ll call it Bend Over and Floss, a dentistry run by Trashmouth himself. Then I’ll retire in five years and then you and I can travel the great wild west without a worry in the world.”

“I don’t think Trashmouth would convince people that you’re a reliable dentist,” Eddie argued. Eddie tried to imagine Richie as a dentist. Mr. Tozier certainly would be thrilled, Eddie thought.

Richie was becoming increasingly more famous as the years went by, and more so these past few years after he did an interview talking about coming home to his husband’s “sweet ass” after spending four days apart from him. It was funny because Richie hadn’t kept Eddie a secret, quite the opposite. Every Instagram post was about Eddie in some way. Every tweet too. Apparently, if Richie wasn’t sticking his tongue down Eddie’s throat for all to see, it wasn’t obvious enough that he was gay and happily married. To a man.

 _I talk about sucking dick all the time. No, it doesn’t matter if it’s a character. I made up the character, so it’s my big trash mouth talking. It’s coming from me. I talk about my husband on twitter every day. I’m pretty sure I leaked his nudes from ‘06 at one point. You’re only taking notice now because my career’s taking off- yeah I’m more famous than I’ve ever been but I’ve been sweet-talking my husband in public for years. You’re all just a bunch of homophobes. You’re scared of gay people, so when I actually do something gay you just act like you don’t see it. But now you have to see it because my_ face _is everywhere._

Eddie loved seeing Richie be showered in love and admiration. Richie was talented. He had been a voice actor for a number of large films, including _Star Wars_ just last year which sent all the Losers into a fucking frenzy. The night he was offered a voice acting role in the upcoming film, Richie had made love to Eddie so good his legs couldn’t stop shaking until well into the afternoon the next day. He laid Eddie on his stomach, one large hand curled around his hip and the other around his shoulder where he pressed Eddie into the mattress. The stretch and drag of Richie’s thick cock turned him into putty until he felt like he was melting like an ice cube.

“Your father would certainly be...shocked,” Eddie offered.

Sometimes Eddie forgot that Richie spent eight years attending university, working towards a DDS degree. He was still in school when he first joined the cast of SNL which felt like ages ago; a lifetime away from where they currently were.

“Yeah,” Richie said, pocketing his phone and walking over to take a seat, “he’ll probably have a heart attack honestly. God, can you imagine? I’m surprised Mags hasn’t died of anticipation; waiting for me to find a _proper_ job.”

Went Tozier stopped holding his breath, hoping that one day Richie would be joining his practice in Maryland. Eddie remembered their extensive series of arguments that ended in a two-month-long silent treatment. Maggie Tozier still did hope that Richie would lead a normal life, despite witnessing his success throughout the years. She still watched all his movies and texted Eddie every night when Richie was on SNL, telling him how funny her son was as if Eddie didn’t know that already.

They were good to Richie, for the most part. No parent was perfectly designed, but Eddie thought the Toziers were as good as they get.

“I think you have a proper job,” Eddie murmured. Richie's eyes lit up.

“Aw,” he cooed, leaning over to kiss the top of Eddie’s head, “thanks, babe. You’re so sweet, you give me a toothache.”

Eddie smiled to himself. He felt light and airy. “Did you talk to the others?” Eddie asked.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, rubbing his hand down his jeans, “I don’t think they- I think. Listen, I think that they-”

“Spit it out, Rich.”

“They don’t trust your plan,” he rushed. He stared at Eddie with apologetic eyes.

“Did you tell them the turtle told me?”

“Yeah, Ben and Bill don’t really understand all that so it wasn’t really a good selling point,” Richie told him.

Eddie tapped his finger against his leg.

“Did you _really_ hone in on the fact that a _giant_ sea turtle came to me in my dreams and told me how to kill It? Like, did you really get in there and advertise my credentials? Rich- did you tell them the _turtle_ told _me_ how to _kill_ It?”

“Yes,” Richie’s lips tugged on a small smile, “I told them how qualified you are to be making plans for Its’ funeral; caused and hosted my Eds himself.”

“Good,” he sighed. “They’ll come around.”

They sat there in silence for a minute. Eddie played with Richie’s fingers, his hand in his lap as he traced the veins and knobs of his knuckles. Eddie turned his hand over and placed his flat against Richie’s palm until their fingers lined up.

Eddie felt a slight pressure build-up in his abdomen. He scratched Richie’s palm.

“I have to pee,” Eddie spoke.

“Hmm?” Richie was falling asleep, his head resting against the side of the bed.

“I have to pee,” he urged.

“Then go pee, Eds. What do you think the catheter is for?”

“No,” Eddie pressed, “you have to leave.”

Richie looked up, squinting at him. “Why?”

“Because,” Eddie groaned, “you’ll hear me pee. I don’t want you to hear me pee.”

“Too late,” he said through a yawn, “I’ve already heard you pee like six times. You pee in sleep, Eds did you know that? I’ve heard the worst of it, just let it out.”

That wasn’t very comforting to hear, but Richie looked so tired he didn’t want to disrupt him. Especially when he was _telling_ Eddie he didn’t indeed care.

“Ok,” Eddie breathed, “I’m- I’m going to pee.”

“Ok,” Richie whispered.

Eddie’s face heated up for the entire thirteen seconds it took to empty his bladder. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Eddie whispered. “Thanks for not making it weird.”

“Anytime, babe,” he said, his head still lying on the bed. He patted Eddie’s thigh and fell asleep with a light snore.

* * *

The Losers visited Eddie before his surgery.

Richie refused to leave the room, so they filed in one at a time.

“By the way,” Bev was saying, sitting on the edge of his bed, “ _I_ believe in your plan.”

Beverly looked beautiful as always, despite the obvious exhaustion that clung to her. Her hair was long and bright and her eyes intense where they held Eddie’s gaze. He felt extremely self- conscious, lying with his aggressive leg wound on display. He probably smelt awful too. He just hoped he didn’t have to pee again. That would be humiliating.

“Ben and Bill will come around,” she assured.

“Has It- has It done anything,” Eddie asked, “since the sewers?”

“It’s been awfully quiet, actually.”

Her eyes glimmered with hope and Eddie felt like a terrible person. Why couldn’t he just let It go? If It wasn’t posing a threat, then why couldn’t they move on? Maybe the turtle was wrong. Maybe It would be too weak to come back again and eventually It would starve to death down in the sewers. To Eddie though, _maybe_ wasn’t enough.

“It’s not dead,” Eddie told her.

Her eyes sunk into sadness and...fear. Fear.

“A girl can only dream,” she smiled tightly.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

Technically all of this _was_ his fault. None of this had to have happened if he had just listened to Richie in the beginning. Had he finally grown out of his obsession with pleasing his mother, he would have never had to come back to Derry in the first place. But then they all would have been oblivious to the unseen force that was It; holding Derry in the center of Its’ palm. More children would surely have died, innocent and in the prime of their youth.

“Eddie,” Richie warned from the corner of the room. He had been on his phone silently texting someone or multiple someones but it turned out he was listening intently to their conversation.

“Let’s talk about something else,” she patted the back of his hand. Her hands were small and smooth, delicately freckled, and veiny. Her nails were painted a brilliant blue and he wondered if she had gotten them done specifically for her show in Milan.

* * *

Then Stan came in, his hair wild and his shoulders tense.

“She tried to eat your face,” Eddie found himself saying. He reached over to trace one of the tiny white scars on the edge of his jaw. “I just remembered.”

“I’m not afraid of her anymore,” Stan stated.

“That’s good,” Eddie hummed.

“What,” he scooted closer to Eddie, “would I have to be afraid of then? For It to come back so we can kill It, what should I be scared of?”

“Anything you can kill.”

“But,” he started, his face scrunched up in confusion, “we’re all scared of It and we couldn’t kill It. What’s the difference?”

“We’re not scared of _It,_ ” Eddie pushed, “we’re scared of what It can _do_ ; what It can _become_. When It shapeshifts into a leper- or a childhood bully- it’s no longer _It_. It has to follow the rules of the things It’s inhabiting. So,” Eddie wanted to sit up but resisted the urge to, “if It’s a vampire, we can kill It with sunlight or a stake to the heart. It’s harder trying to kill It as the clown because-”

“It’s just...It,” Stan finished.

“Exactly. It can be anything,” Eddie said, “all at once. So we have to narrow It down to something that’s _simpler_ than It.”

The conversation wandered off. Eddie asked about Patty and the baby and basked in the brightness that was Stan’s smile.

* * *

Bill came in next with Mike in tow, despite there being only two people allowed in his room at a time. Richie stayed in the corner, cautious of the door because he'd be damned if he was the one to be kicked out if it came to that. Eddie would never let that happen regardless.

They both stared at Eddie’s leg. Bill’s face drained of color. Mike seemed more upset than disgusted, his jaw clenching.

“Bill didn’t think you were actually in danger,” Richie accused, obviously trying to draw their attention away. God, Eddie loved him so much. “Tell him, Mikey. You and Stan were the only true believers.”

Bill’s attention was easily diverted. He rolled his eyes, not even the slightest bit offended.

“Let me guess,” Eddie teased, “you were the voice of reason.”

“Actually, Ben was. Billy Boy here just doesn’t love you enough,” Richie filled in.

“ _Actually_ ,” Bill announced, sitting down next to Eddie’s good leg, “I love you very much, Richie’s just being a dick.”

“I believe you,” Eddie said around a smile.

Eddie told them what he told Stan. Mike understood perfectly, but Bill was less inclined to follow suit.

“What if,” Bill was asking, “we can’t kill our fears? Won’t that replenish Its’ powers?”

“It has to eat that fear in order to sustain Itself and grow stronger,” Mike confirmed where he was sitting in the chair next to the bed.

“So there’s still a chance It can kill us before we can kill It?” Bill questioned.

Eddie sank further into the mattress, too exhausted to explain it any further. Bill asked too many questions. 

* * *

Ben was easiest to talk to.

He didn’t even spare a glance at Eddie’s leg when he walked in. He looked vibrant and well, damn him. His hair was neatly combed and his face clean-shaven.

He sat down in the chair next to Eddie's bedside.

He didn’t mention It or ask about Eddie’s plan to defeat It either.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” he said, “we were all worried.”

“I’m glad you’re alright too. Richie told me about the Neibolt house.”

Just the name made Eddie shiver.

Ben went into detail about the water-filled basement; the winding tunnels of the sewers and the boulder cutting off Its' arm as it rolled over in front of them.

“Thanks for coming after me,” Eddie said.

“Always,” Ben promised, his smile genuine.

* * *

“So there’s good news,” Dr. Anderson said as she walked through the door, a clipboard tucked under her arm. “We can perform an internal fixation on your leg. This means the screws will be placed inside the leg instead of outside, which is what we would have done with the external fixation. We’ll have to take a skin graph from the other leg, though in order to do so.”

Richie was staring at the side of Eddie’s face. Eddie’s good leg itched.

“The good thing about performing the internal fixation is that we can get you in a splint and up in walking soon after that. We want to try and get you moving here soon, so you don’t develop any blood clots,” she said.

“Ok,” Eddie said in a small voice. He knew he already had surgery for his appendix but he wasn’t aware that it was happening at the time. Now, panic about the surgery and the pain that would surely come afterward started to take shape.

Richie reached over to hold his hand, which Eddie squeezed tightly.

Richie leaned over him, smoothing his hair back so he could kiss his forehead. Then he sealed his lips over Eddie’s and gave him a long and languid kiss.

“I love you so fucking much,” he whispered against Eddie’s lips.

Eddie went under, his lips tingling where Richie had spoken the sweetest of words.

* * *

It had an insatiable hunger for fear.

It peeled Itself away from the rock, Its’ arm ripping out of Its’ socket.

It dragged Itself towards the well, slinking down the dark dirty walls until It splashed into the water.

What It needed was strong unwavering fear- tasty tasty fear. It had to make some adjustments for now because It had no energy to reach the fear It most wanted.

It remained at the end of the street, hidden in a storm drain waiting for the smell of fear.


	16. If You Believe It Does

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He combed through Richie’s hair, his fingers sliding over a wet clump of hair on the back of his head. He drew his hand away and stared at his red-stained fingertips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: description of corpses, mentions of child sexual abuse, gore & blood

“We have to lure It here,” Eddie said, sitting propped up in the bed, his bad leg stretched out in front of him and strapped inside a splint.

Richie was sitting across from him in a chair, a small duffle- full of some toiletries Eddie was in desperate need of- squeezed in next to him.

After his hour and a half surgery, Eddie was wheeled back into his room to continue his recovery. He didn’t feel much pain, but he could feel the pressure of the splint where it held the bone into place.

He was permitted to walk around the room, Richie on one side of him and a nurse on the other. They were even kind enough to take out his catheter so he could finally pee on his own. The only downside was that he had to start taking medicine to combat the possibility of attracting a urinary tract infection, which Eddie wasn’t looking forward to.

“Eds,” Richie looked at him like he had germinated a second head, “this is a _hospital._ We’re not going to bring a murderous fucking shapeshifting clown to a hospital.”

“Well, I won't be up for discharge until Wednesday,” Eddie pointed out. That was two days from then.

“So we’ll wait two days,” Richie said around a sip of water, “and in the meantime, we’ll construct a solid plan.”

“That’s too long,” Eddie groaned. “It could be out there- _right_ now- doing something awful.” Richie set his cup down with a little too much energy.

“You do realize,” he was saying, scooting to the edge of his seat, “that you _just_ had serious surgery?”

“No, Richie I actually didn’t know that," Eddie faked surprise. "The massive fucking skin graph and the metal fucking screws in my leg are a total fucking shock.”

“Hmm,” Richie seemed unfazed by Eddie’s snarky reaction. He leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on the edge of the bed, crossed at the ankles. “You don’t have to be so dramatic Eds. I just think- don’t mind my opinion, what the fuck do I know anyways- that you should be taking it easy.”

Eddie didn’t want to be cross with Richie, but he couldn’t shake the dream with the turtle. It wanted them to kill It. How could he ignore the fucking turtle?

“I _have_ been taking it easy,” Eddie debated. “I slept ten hours yesterday. Is that not enough?”

“It’s definitely not enough,” Richie replied, tucking his hands behind his head as if he was lounging casually on a beach. “ It's not enough considering you’ve been stabbed, suffered a few broken ribs, had an organ removed, and had to have a doctor screw _actual_ screws in your leg just to hold your stupid bones in place.”

“My bones aren’t stupid,” Eddie shot back, offended, “you’re-you're annoying.”

“Tell me something I don’t know, Eds,” he laughed.

Eddie hated that Richie thought he was being serious. Richie made jokes, that didn’t mean he was one.

“Wait- you’re not actually annoying,” Eddie was quick to add, “you’re just _being_ annoying.”

“You know,” Richie said, a modest smile on his face, “you could have just called me stupid back.”

“But you’re not stupid, you’re just not listening to me,” Eddie fiddled with a loose thread on his gown, feeling suddenly vulnerable and sensitive. “I feel like- the turtle spoke to me for a reason. Sitting here and- and doing _nothing_ just feels like I’m letting It win. I made it out alive and not everyone who- not everyone was as lucky as me, Rich. When I think about what It did to- to my mom and Georgie and all the kids we grew up- even the ones before- I get this uncontrollable anger right here,” he taps his fist above his sternum as if Richie could see what the feeling looked like, “and it hasn’t gone away. It hasn’t stopped _hurting_ , Rich and I-I-”

“Hey,” Richie whispered, suddenly right there. His large hands were cradling the side of his face and then he was peppering kisses across his nose and cheeks. “It’s ok,” he told Eddie.

Eddie held on to Richie’s wrist, taking deep breaths to ease the pain that was spreading through his chest.

“We’re going to kill that bald fucking bastard,” Richie said with absolute confidence. “I promise we’re going to get It. Whatever it takes, we’re going to kill that motherfucker.”

Eddie layed back down. He turned his head to stare at Richie staring at him. Richie looked uncertain as he sat there, his eyes blinking in deep thought.

“Do you remember that stalker I had back in 2010?” Richie asked, randomly.

“Crazy Kate?”

That was a wild time, Eddie remembered. Crazy Kate had sent Richie over a hundred letters declaring her love for him; crude phrases and images attached to each delicately folded paper.

Eddie shivered just thinking about it.

“Yeah- is that what we decided to call her?”

“That’s what _you_ decided to call her, yes. You made me take self-defense classes for like a whole year.”

“God, that was so hot. I wanted you to kick my ass so bad.”

“That- really?”

“Yeah, it was so hot watching you put people in headlocks. I had a hard-on for eight whole months, Eds.”

Eddie's face grew hot. He cleared his throat.

“Is this going somewhere?”

“Do you remember," Richie hesitated, "when I made us take that firearms course?”

Richie reached into the duffel bag and pulled out a-

Handgun.

“Is this a joke?” Eddie gaped, sitting up.

Eddie wanted to laugh. Did Richie honestly think a gun could defeat It?

“No,” Richie said plainly, "it's not."

“Richie, put that fucking thing away.” Eddie didn’t know why he found it so amusing. Maybe it was because the gun was ridiculously small in Richie’s hands. It looked like a toy water gun he'd see a six-year-old brandishing.

It stopped being humorous when Eddie noticed the grave look in Richie’s eyes.

“Eddie-”

“Jesus Richie,” Eddie flopped back against the bed, feeling suddenly exhausted.

“This is to protect you,” he said sternly. 

“I don’t even remember how to use a fucking gun, oh my god.”

“All you have to do is believe you can use it,” Richie informed.

“ _What_?”

“When we came to rescue you,” he began, “we had to push this giant fucking boulder around to trap It. The rock was fucking huge, Eds but Bev told us we had to _believe_ that we had enough strength to move it. And we did- we fucking moved it.” He sat next to Eddie. “I’m giving you this as a last resort, do you understand? If It comes after you- no matter where you are- you _are_ going to use this to protect yourself.”

“I-”

“Promise you’ll take it, just in case,” Richie implored.

“Richie,” Eddie stared at the gun.

“Please, Eddie.”

He looked at Richie and felt compelled to do as he said. It was a tug towards Richie's caring eyes and soft heart.

“I promise,” Eddie said in a quiet voice.

Richie hung his head, sighing as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

“This thing cost me fifty whole bucks, Eds,” he announced, turning the gun over in his hand. “They guy at the pawnshop was a fucking creep.”

“Can we even trust pawnshops anymore?"

"Could we _ever_ trust pawnshops?"

"Is it even _loaded_?” Eddie pressed.

Richie laughed, sniffling.

“Of course it’s fucking loaded, you dork.”

Eddie felt a smile growing on his face.

"Richie-"

Above them, the powder white lights erupted into darkness.

* * *

It came at night.

Stanley woke to a quiet voice, chilling and light.

He was still in the ICU waiting room, his head resting on Mike’s shoulder. Mike was sound asleep and Bill too who had bundled up a jacket to use as a makeshift pillow. One of his legs was in Mike’s lap, Mike's hand was resting on top of his ankle. Stanley pushed his forehead into Mike’s shoulder, biting back a yawn.

Ben and Bev were sitting across from them under a glass viewing window. Bev had her feet tucked underneath her and her head was resting against Ben’s chest. Seeing them made Stanley long for Patty's warm embrace. He wanted to sit by her side, rest his hand over her tiny pump. He wondered if her bump had grown anymore since the last time he saw her.

When his surroundings became more clear, Stanley realized two things. It was awfully quiet and dark.

Stanley rose to his feet.

A shadow moved through the badly lit hall. “Mike?” Stan reached down and shook his shoulder.

“Hm?”

“Mike!” Stan shouted.

Mike jolted upright, dislodging Bill and startling Ben and Bev. “What? What-”

“It’s here,” Stan said in a hushed voice.

Something was lurking behind the window where Beverly was standing.

“Bev. Beverly! Get up. Get up, come here,” Mike ushered.

“It’s back,” Stan repeated with urgency.

“W-we have to go,” Bill said, grabbing Mike’s arm to tug him along.

“Richie and Eddie,” Bev rushed. “We have to get to them, they could be in danger.”

When they emerged from the waiting room, the lights flickered overhead. There were no nurses or doctors, the call center empty. A phone dangled from the hook; papers scattered and freshly brewed coffee waiting to be sipped on.

At the end of the hall, a riotous hissing echoed through the hospital.

“Oh, _fuck_ no,” Stanley cursed, frozen in place.

An enormous snake came slithering down the hall, midnight black scales iridescent as the flickering light bounced off Its' back.

“ _Run_!” Beverly screamed.

Stanley couldn’t get his legs to move. It’s diamond-shaped head lifted, ready to strike; oval eyes deadly.

Stanley felt a tug on his sleeve. He was yanked violently to the side, crashing to the floor next to Ben who was shielding him under his body.

A collision blew through the room, glass splintering with a thunderous clap. Stanley saw the snake's jaw spread wide open, Its' front teeth stuck in the window. Stanley felt an overwhelming feeling wash over him, realizing that moments ago he was standing where Its' mouth was. The snake thrashed around violently.

Ben hauled him to his feet and they sprinted after the others. Bev ran to Ben immediately, pulling him to her side.

“What the fuck?” Bill said once they were all together again. “I thought It was too weak to shapeshift. How the fuck c-co-could It do that.”

Stan pushed the button to the double doors, bouncing on his feet as he glanced behind him, watching his back.

Bev’s scream blasted through the air.

They all turned and saw the answer to Bill’s question.

There in the middle of the hallway were the dead bodies of several doctors and patients. Their bodies were scattered along the hall, intestines spewed around them; faces peeling with fatty flesh and throats torn out.

“We’re fucked,” Stanley whispered, a hand over his mouth.

_Oh, Losers! Come out and play Losers!_

A giant spider leg appeared at the end of the hall. Its’ leg was bent, fuzzy hair sticking out in different directions. Then It’s full body came into view, Its’ eyes glossy and fangs razor-sharp.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Mike whispered.

They all took off running. The click of the spider's pointed claws crashing through the floor echoed behind them.

They approached the elevators with great speed. A man in scrubs was holding the door open, his eyes bulging from his head as he saw the Losers running towards him like finding a mirage of water in the desert.

“Get in! Hurry!” he yelled.

They threw themselves into the elevator. Bev reached over and jabbed the keys repeatedly. The spider was getting closer.

_I’ve missed you! Haven’t you missed me?_

The spider slid across the tiled floor, crashing against a wall before regaining Its' balance. The elevator doors slid closed, painstakingly slow.

“Come on,” Bev screeched. “Come on!”

Its' claw advanced. The tip of Its' claw pierced the nurse's throat, blood spraying across the inside of the elevator. The nurse was pulled forward, gurgling, and spitting up blood. Then he was dragged out of the elevator and tossed aside like a rag doll.

The spider looked at them with evil eyes; all eight of them leveled in satisfaction. Thankfully the elevator doors slid closed just as the spider tried to snatch at them.

* * *

The elevator dinged through the floors, the Losers shaken with fear.

Beverly was in shock, her face speckled with blood. Ben was holding her close, wiping away some of the blood with the end of his shirt.

Bill and Stan glanced at their phones, disappointed but not surprised to see they were glitching. They were worthless.

“We have to get to Richie and Eddie,” Mike was saying. “We have to warn them.”

“How?” Bev asked, pulling away from Ben but staying close.

“It just ate a ten-course meal,” Stanley pointed out. “It’s powerful. Really powerful.”

“Shouldn’t we- remember what Eddie said?” Mike asked. “It has to abide by physics. If we can get It to turn into something smaller, then we'll stand a chance. We have to be afraid of something we can easily kill.”

“You'd think spiders would be easy enough to kill," Bev murmured.

They all looked at each other, acknowledging how screwed their situation really was. 

“What are you scared of, Mike?” Ben asked.

“Being burned alive," he answered easily.

“And you Bev?”

“Drowning,” she murmured, avoiding eye contact with the others.

Everyone looked at Bill.

“I’m not s-scared of It,” Bill said with confidence.

“We’re all scared of something," Stan stated.

The elevator came to a jolting halt. The doors crept open.

They all stepped out into the hall, the lights blinking on and off. Beverly was the last to step out.

An invisible force yanked her back, a hand fisted in the back of her head.

“Ben!” she yelled, but it was too late. The elevator doors slammed shut, sealing her off from the others.

* * *

The lights above Beverly shattered over her head, raining specks of gold. She threw her hands over her head to protect herself, waiting.

The lights fluttered to life.

When she opened her eyes, she was standing in a bathroom. There were four-stall doors around her, locking her in.

Her heart pounded inside her chest when her eyes caught the graffiti splashed across the dingy surface of the door.

_SLUT SLUT SLUT_

“ _Beverly_ ,” a voice seethed.

Beverly’s skin broke out in goosebumps.

“Fuck you,” Bev snarled. “I’m not scared of you.”

“ _Why haven’t you visited me, Bevvy? Don’t you miss me?”_

Beverly braced her hands against the wall and kicked at the door with one foot. She did it again and again until her ankle throbbed.

The sound of rushing water pressed forward. Thick scarlet red liquid came rushing in through the bottom of the stall.

The door started rocking vigorously. Bev put her foot out to try and stop It from barging in. The force behind the door pushed her backward and she fell back on the lid of the toilet seat, splashing in the blood.

Her father’s face emerged from the crack, wicked and deranged.

“ _I’ve missed you, Bevvy. My bed’s cold without you.”_

Rage sailed through her.

She climbed to her feet, the blood waist-high. She grabbed either side of the top of the stall and glared at her father as a dangerous smile split across his face.

“Beverly,” he said in Its' voice.

The blood was rising at an alarming rate. Hands shot out the depths and tried to pull her under. She strained against them, spluttering up the foul-tasting blood as it sloshed over her. She held her head high and lifted herself, kicking forward with both feet.

“Fuck you,” She gasped as the blood poured over her.

Underneath it was dark and warm, but she fought back. She propelled herself forward and kicked the stall door until it crumbled under the force of her blow. She smashed her father’s face against the side of the door and It screeched in frustration. Its' face twitched, red and white flashing by in a blur. She kicked the door again, for good measures.

The door caved and the blood gushed out. Beverly surfaced, riding against the violent wave as she was forced out of the doors of the elevator. She slid across the tiles, gasping for air.

“Bev!” several voices yelled her name.

“Bev,” Ben’s gentle voice reached her. He was kneeling over her, helping her sit up. He brushed her hair out of her face. “Are you ok?”

Beverly peered up at Ben, blinking the gore from her eyes. “Let’s kill this fucking clown,” she spat.

* * *

“Richie,” Eddie warned.

Richie came over to him. He grabbed Eddie’s hands and placed the gun in his palms. Richie’s eyes pinned him in place. Eddie couldn't look away.

“If It gets to you, don’t hesitate do you understand me? Believe that you can kill It and shoot that fucker in the face.”

Eddie grabbed Richie, his fingers curling around his wrist.

“You’re can't go out there,” Eddie sued.

“Promise me you won’t hesitate,” Richie pleaded.

“Fuck you, Richie,” Eddie shouted. "I don't need this fucking gun because we'll fight It together; you can shoot It yourself."

“I love you,” he whispered, grabbing Eddie by the back of the neck and kissing him on the forehead. His lips lingered. He pulled back and his eyes were polished, clear, and unafraid. “Never forget that.”

“Richie,” he tried to hold on to him, but he was trembling horribly. Richie slipped out of his grasp and disappeared out the door, the lights flickered above him like a silent goodbye.

“Richie!”

Eddie's heartbeat was deafening. The world felt like it was spinning around dangerously.

_Think. Think. Think._

“Fuck!” Eddie screamed. He placed the gun at the end of the bed.

There was a terrifying howl, like a wolf under the full moon; a ghastly shadow.

_No._

Eddie reached over toward the chair where the duffle bag was lying open. His IV was holding him back so he had to expand his chest to be able to reach. He stretched his arm, a terrible pain spreading through his side. He pushed through it, breathing through the agonizing tug and pull. Yet he still couldn't reach.

He groaned in frustration.

He laid back for a few seconds. Then he ripped out his IV, blood welling in the crook of his elbow, and then he tore off the oximeter on his finger too. He pulled the safety rating down and out of his way. He tried to lift his legs over the side of the bed but the pain turned his stomach with the threat of vomiting and his good leg was too numb to walk on at the moment.

_Think. Think. Think._

He rolled onto his side, stars dancing across his vision. _One, two, three._

Eddie pushed himself off the bed.

He hit the floor, landing on his hip. Pain exploded down his leg. For a moment he feared he wouldn’t be able to get up, but the commotion outside easily startled him out of his haze.

He pulled the duffel to the floor so he could rummage through it. He found the nail clippers neatly packed away. They were the exact pair Eddie had asked for, he noticed. He shouldn't have expected anything less. 

Eddie laid on his back. He lifted his gown and breathed through his nose. The drainage catheter would only hold him back as it lagged behind him, straining and tugging painfully on his hip. He used the nail clippers to snip it off, like clamping an umbilical cord.

Pale yellow liquid oozed out and Eddie withheld the urge to gag in disgust.

He pulled himself up, on hand planted on the bed while his elbow supported all his weight. His leg was like a dead weight trudging behind him. He rested his clammy forehead against his arm, struggling to come to terms with the intensity of the pain.

He saw Richie’s face among the chaos and then the others, strong and full of bravery. He grabbed the gun, checking that the safety was off.

He hobbled out the door, the darkness swallowing him until the bright fluorescent lights finally blinked to life.

“Richie!” he screamed, using the wall to support himself. “Richie!”

Eddie rounded the corner, short of breath and overcome with exhaustion.

“Richie!”

_Where ya going, Eds?_

Eddie whipped around, gun raised. His eyes scanned the dimly lit halls. A bone-chilling growl ghosted over the back of his neck.

Suddenly he was flung to the side, sliding across the floor. His back hit the wall, the gun skidded a few feet away from him.

His abdomen sized with pain.

Richie was at Its’ feet, limp and unmoving.

Across from Eddie, the werewolf was looming in the shadows. It was at least eight feet tall, hunched over and shaggy, Its’ grey fur thick and matted. Its’ angular snout was dripping drool, Its’ lips vibrating with a growl. It lifted Richie’s lifeless body high in the air, nuzzling the side of his face.

_Tasty tasty fear._

It took Its’ eyes off Eddie, Its’ glowing bronze gaze focused on Richie. Eddie edged over to the gun.

_These are silver bullets. These are silver bullets. These are silver bullets._

“Hey fuckface!” he called.

Its’ head snapped to the side, eyes narrowing down on Eddie. A devilish smile made Its’ mouth break into a row of slimy soiled teeth.

It dropped Richie, who fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

It charged towards Eddie.

Eddie raised the gun in a single swift motion.

“Eat this, you stupid piece of shit,” he gritted and pulled the trigger.

The bullet slit through the air and embedded itself into Its’ heart.

It faltered. The inside of the werewolf- just a false face- lit up like an amber beam of light. It wailed, stepping back. Its’ claws tore at Its’ chest shredding it to bloody ribbons. The light sliced through, bright and powerful.

Eddie shielded his eyes.

The wailing grew louder until it found its peak and turned into a high pitch scream that nearly shattered Eddie’s eardrums.

A loud shot boomed around him. Eddie felt something wet and warm splatter across his legs.

He didn’t even bother to look. He crawled towards Richie, grabbing his leg to help pull himself closer to him so he could lay nestled by his side.

“Richie?” Eddie whispered. He tapped the side of his face. “Richie, hey. Wake up. Wake up, Richie.”

He combed through Richie’s hair, his fingers sliding over a wet clump of hair on the back of his head. He drew his hand away and stared at his red-stained fingertips.

“Richie,” Eddie rustled, his voice broken. “Richie, _please_ wake up. Wake up, Richie. You can't leave me, not like this- _please_."

Nothing.

"I told you not to leave me. I _told_ you," Eddie began sobbing, uncontrollable, and intense. 

Eddie pressed his ear to Richie’s chest and heard...nothing.

Silence had never been so loud. 

* * *

Downstairs, the other Losers were waging their own war.

The scorched hands grabbing at Mike were relentless. He smashed the side of his body against the door in the janitor's closet, cutting off one of the charred limbs, watching as it thrashed about on the floor. He kept pushing, unafraid. He kept pushing until the hands disappeared. He sagged against the back of the door, exhaustion washing over him. 

Bill watched, his little brother’s decaying face hovering over him as he held a scalpel pointed at his throat. Bill caught his small hands, the scalpel slicing through his palm. With as much strength as he could muster, he turned the knife until the sharp point pierced his little's brother's heart. Then, his impish grin faded and he disintegrated into dust; a whisper of a memory.

Ben beat a spiders’ nest with the butt of a stapler until he was hammering away at the porcelain tiles beneath him.

Stan stomped on the head of a snake, crushing bone as it squelched under his foot.

Bev punched Greta Keene in the face, her knuckles splitting open. She went to swing again, but there was only air **.**


	17. Let's Keep Our Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You promised me," he whispered, his face wet with tears. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: brief homophobia

When Eddie was sixteen, he thought about what it would be like to die.

That was the year that his Aunt Barbra had passed away. It was the first time- that he could remember- where someone close to him had died.

He had known her, seen her face- her wildly styled hair, her elfish nose, and slanted eyes. He sat on her lap one Christmas at dinner because every other adult couldn't understand Eddie and his fast-talking and wild imagination. Looking back over the years, Eddie suspected that she couldn't understand him either, yet she still pretended to listen closely to him the entire time. He had loved her for that. 

A few years after that Eddie's mother had informed him that Aunt Barbra had fallen ill and wouldn't be making it to Christmas that year. Later that night, however, he had overheard her on the phone with his other Aunt. She was cold and stern and shook her finger in Eddie's face when he spoke to fast or tried to take one to many cookies before dinner. That was the night that Eddie became aware of the fact that adults can be stone-cold liars. Aunt Barbara wasn't sick, at least not in any contagious way. Aunt Barbra made Sonia sick because she had kissed a girl. Eddie cried all night, knowing he would probably never see Aunt Barbra again. 

Years later his mother had gotten the call about Aunt Barbra and the car accident. His mother didn't shed any tears, but her mouth formed a sad frown. It only lasted a moment before she informed Eddie who was driving. Apparently Aunt Barbra had a girlfriend, something that Eddie didn't think was possible for women and men, especially not in Derry.

 _San Francisco is amazing_ , Richie had told Eddie once when he told him where his cool Aunt had moved to, _you can be anyone you want in California_. Of course, as they both grew up they became aware of the harsh realities. There was no place that was immune to hatred. Sometimes the hatred lived inside of you. Sometimes the hatred was your own mother. 

For weeks Eddie had nightmares of dying. He dreamt he was in a car that kept tumbling down a hillside, the sound of the crashing waves against the rocky cliffs neverending. In the car he was pinned to his seat, the seat belt digging into the flesh of his chest. Sometimes it would slice right through him, cutting him in half. 

He woke up every night for two weeks in a cold sweat unable to catch his breath. He cried himself to sleep seven nights in a row.

He finally told Richie about it one afternoon, when the burden of it all became too much.

They were laying on the ground of the Club House, just the two of them. Fall had just rolled around so it was cool underground. 

"I'm sorry," Richie had whispered.

He scooted closer to Eddie. They were touching from shoulder to hip. 

Eddie was feeling brave. He reached between them and laced his fingers with Richie's, his heart beating rapidly. Richie squeezed his hand and Eddie released a giant breath. 

"But there's good news," Richie whispered, turning his head to the side so he could look at Eddie. Their noses were almost touching. 

"What's the good news?" Eddie asked, his voice feeling small. 

"I'll never leave you," Richie said with confidence. 

"Promise?" Eddie asked, his eyes stinging with tears.

"Promise," Richie breathed, as sure as the sky being blue.

Eddie had no choice but to lean over and kiss him, tasting the sugar-sweet words of a promise. 

* * *

Eddie cupped the side of Richie's face, thumbing away the blood on the corner of his mouth. He pressed his forehead to Richie’s.

"You _promised_ me," he whispered, his face wet with tears as the memory slid through him. 

He beat a fist against Richie's chest, angry and stricken with grief. 

"Richie," Eddie cried, "I kept my promise. I killed It- I fought back, just like I promised I would. I kept my promise now you have to keep yours."

Nothing. Nothing.

Frantically, Eddie pulled himself up, choking back tears. He awkwardly found himself halfway on top of Richie, straddling his leg. He started performing CPR. 

"Come on," he hissed. "Breath for me Richie, please."

His arms were growing weak, his muscles burning. A lot of time had passed, but the minutes ticking by had felt like mere seconds. 

"Come on," he pleaded. He leaned down and pressed his ear to his chest. 

Nothing. Nothing.

"Fuck you!" Eddie shouted, at Richie or It or the goddamn universe- he didn't know. 

The silence was filled with the horrible wretched sound of Eddie's screams. 

He laid down next to Richie, resting his head on his chest and listened. He could lay there forever, he realized. The thought nearly pulled him under. He never wanted to wake up again. 

_Belief is a powerful thing, Eddie._

The turtle’s voice ambled over him, quiet and relaxed.

_You've done so well. You couldn't have been braver. Your bravery deserves a gift._

_I want the pain to go away,_ Eddie thought. That would be the greatest gift.

Believe _Eddie, and the pain will go away, that is my gift to you._

Eddie raised his head so fast his vision swam.

He stared down at Richie’s peaceful face and thought, _I love you_.

_Believe, Eddie._

“You’re not really dead,” Eddie spoke it into existence. “I don’t believe it. I _won’t_ believe it.”

Under Eddie’s hand, a delicate flutter tapped against his palm.

Eddie held his breath.

Waiting. Hoping. 

Waiting. Hoping.

Waiting. Hoping.

Waiting. Hoping.

“I think I hit my head,” Richie mumbled with a groan, filling the silence.

Eddie’s heart lept through his chest. He threw his good leg over Richie’s, hooking his arms around his shoulders. Richie automatically wrapped his arm around his waist, drawing their bodies closer. He buried his face in Eddie’s neck.

"I love you," Eddie cried, over and over again until his throat grew dry. 

Behind them, It sighed around an agonizing moan.


	18. Beep Beep Motherfucker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You were never going to win,” Mike told him, his voice calm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: gore

“Richie! Eddie!” They heard Bill shout, but they couldn't take their eyes off It.

“Over here,” Eddie called.

The others came rushing over, only to stop dead in the tracks.

Richie was supporting Eddie, who looked like he had just fought the devil with nothing but his bare fists.

They were corning something.

It was shriveled up, like a popped balloon riddled with lines and wrinkles. Its’ body was small, like a child’s. Its’ gloved hands fiddled with nothing in particular. Its’ wide eyes swirled back and forth, panic reflecting in the yellow-brown iris.

“Look at you,” Its’ voice rattled, eyes finding each of the Losers as they hovered over It, “ _all_ grown up.”

It started laughing, hysterical, and manic.

Mike crouched in front of It and Its’ hysterics fell placid. It tried to back away in fear, but It had nowhere to go.

“You were never going to win,” Mike told It, his voice calm.

He reached over and brushed his fingers over Its’ heart where blood was spilling out from bullet lodged in Its’ heart. Its’ small hands wrapped around Mike’s fingers. Mike wasn’t scared, unwavering in his movements.

Mike dipped his fingers inside the wound. Its’ hands tried to push him away, crying out in distress. His fingers brushed Its’ heart. He yanked it out, basking in the howling cries of It.

Mike stood up, staring at the blackened beating heart. The others crowded around him, cupping their hands around Mike’s. The eerie sound of Its’ heartbeat consumed the silence.

It gave a wet chuckle.

Richie peered over to watch It.

“Beep beep, _motherfucker_ ,” Richie spat as they crushed Its’ heart, black blood running down their wrists.

The lights fluttered to life and the darkness was lifted.


	19. Pool Side Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie was there, and that's all that mattered. His pulse fluttered under Eddie’s thumb where it was pressed against his neck, a sure sign that he was alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: explicit sexual content

The fog had cleared, but the mess still remained.

Patients and doctors wandered out their rooms, shaking off the haze that was It.

No one who was spared from Its' reign of terror seemed to remember what had happened and the shrilling cries of people finding the bodies that had been torn apart by It surely added to the mix of confusion and horror.

The Derry police were called; people were questioned. Investigations went underway and the Losers had to pretend to be oblivious; pretend to not know what was behind the savage killings that took place that night. 

There was no one to blame, in the end. Its’ body had disappeared, drifting away into the unknown. The Losers stuffed Its' heart in a biohazard bag and disposed of it. That seemed fitting, they thought, for the last of It to rot away among the filth.

The Losers stumbled through the halls, exhaustion catching up to them. Eddie passed out not soon after, finally surrendering to the pain and fatigue.

The road to recovery was miles long and deep; a cavernous cave that wanted to drag them down into the gloom that was the memory of It. In the end, the Losers had each other and together they’d make the journey across the nightmares until they yielded to more happy memories.

* * *

**One year later**

Eddie’s heart beat rhythmically, a consistent steady swing. However, when Richie bounded down the steps of the patio, Eddie’s heart sped up with excitement, coupled with a tiny bit of panic and playfulness. 

“ _No_ -no,” Eddie warned.

He abandoned his veggie platter, shielding himself behind Mike, which quickly proved to be useless. 

“Give me all you got,” Mike encouraged, spreading his arms wide.

Richie pretended to load his _Nerf_ gun and sprayed ice-cold water directly in Mike’s face. Eddie could feel droplets of water hit his shoulder. He _hated_ being cold.

Mike was clearly enjoying the cool spray of water, the New Mexico sun sweltering like red hot lava in the sky. Eddie ran for it, taking cover behind a pool chair.

“I swear to God, Richie,” Eddie said, tracking his movements as he stalked closer.

Richie held two water guns propped up in each hand with a smoldering look on his face. He was wearing bright blue swim trunks with yellow rubber ducks scattered across the front. His collar bones were sharp and his stomach soft, yet toned. Eddie wished he could enjoy the view, but Richie was unrelenting in his attack against him.

“Richie,” Stan spoke, “don’t you think it’s time to put the toys away?”

Stan was standing by the grill, chatting with Ben. Baby Eli was propped against his hip, his face dripping orange as he sucked on a fruit packet. Eli’s hair was the color of macaroons, his curls matching Stan’s and his eyes as sharp as Patty’s.

Richie turned to him and for a second Eddie thought he was going to spray Stan and his baby.

“Today’s your lucky day,” he said in a deep gruff voice sounding like an eighty-year-old smoker. He lowered his gun. “Next time, the baby won’t be able to save you.”

He blew baby Eli a kiss.

With Richie’s back turned, Eddie threw a towel over his head and made a run for it.

Eddie couldn’t see where he was going so when Richie grabbed him around the waist and threw him over his shoulder, he let out an embarrassingly loud screech.

“Richie! Richie put me down,” Eddie shrieked. The world remained upside down as Richie spun them in circles.

“No can do Eduardo,” Richie chuckled as he smacked him on the ass. Eddie’s face flared, his stomach swooping like he was on a roller coaster. Eddie reached down and gave Richie a wedgie as payback.

Richie playfully screamed and suddenly they were falling into the pool, the tepid water laving over them.

Eddie resurfaced, sputtering and shaking the water from his face. Richie flopped on top of him like a whale breaching.

Eddie shoved at him, dunking him under the water. He held his head under for a few seconds before letting him go, and then he swam to the edge of the pool, trying to make his escape but Richie was right behind him. He wrapped his arms around his waist and slammed them back under.

Eddie jumped on Richie’s back, plunging his head underwater again.

"Eat shit!" Eddie yelled as he held Richie- who was pretending to drown- under the water. They kept up the shenanigans until a shadow settled over them.

Bev stood over them, hands on her hips. She was wearing a shimmering red one piece and she glittered like a diamond.

“Children,” she smiled, “your lunch is ready.”

“Oooh,” Richie squealed, shaking his hair in Eddie’s face. “Ben, give me the juiciest burger you’ve got,” he shouted as he climbed out of the pool.

Bev offered Eddie a dry towel when he climbed out.

“Thanks,” he said, as he dried his hair.

Eddie could feel her eyes tracking his movements. Bev was gazing at him, her eyes lifted with a smile.

“What?” he asked, suddenly feeling insecure. He wanted to cover himself with the towel.

“Nothing,” she smiled, “you’re very handsome. You look happy- and healthy.”

When Eddie was finally released from the hospital it was another long-drawn-out week of being restricted to a hospital bed. It would be another _six_ weeks before Eddie could have his cast removed and another four weeks of physical therapy on top of it all. Then, it was _another_ two weeks before he could move onto more intense physical activities like he was used to.

Once he was given the green light to partake in more strenuous activities, Eddie had made it a habit to go running every morning, much to Richie’s dismay.

Eddie didn’t want to take a single day for granted and he did feel healthy; he felt full of life and vitality.

“Oh,” he could feel himself blush, “thank you?”

“Of course,” she said, “now let's go eat.”

* * *

Richie was taking an obscenely close up video of his hamburger; all bubbling cheese and oozing ketchup.

“That looks disgusting,” Eddie grimaced.

Richie laughed and then zoomed in more, slipping a finger between the bun as if he was-

Eddie grabbed Richie’s wrist. He looked up but the others were oblivious, caught in their own conversations. Bev was laughing at something Ben was saying, relaxed and comfortable.

“Don’t _do_ that,” he said, randomly alarmed. “You can’t post that, Rich- _Richie_.”

After Derry, Richie worked hard on dispelling myths about his absence and disappearance from the limelight. He refused to go back to work while Eddie recovered, much to Eddie's dismay. To keep his agent and reputation, Richie ended up working from home writing for SNL again and continuing his own projects in secret. But he hadn't shown his face is some time, and people loved to speculate as to why that was. People who didn’t even follow Richie and his career were quick to jump to conclusions; drugs, alcohol, divorce. Richie refused to talk about any of it publicly but the premiere of his show _Barry_ last week crushed the theories that he was spiraling downhill.

 _Richie Tozier's Best Kept Secret (and best performance of his career)_ , articles and headlines read. _From SNL to HBO._

That’s why they were all here, sheltered in Ben and Bev’s New Mexico home. It was a celebration in Richie’s honor, coming together to show their love and to support him.

Since his reappearance, Richie had gained over a hundred thousand followers over the months. Eddie thought Richie had a great responsibility now. Two million people followed Richie because they _admired_ him. It was apparent that he had quite a lot of LGBTQ followers, young and old. It was a lot of pressure, Eddie thought but Richie seemed to be holding up well.

Richie turned away, cackling. Eddie fit himself under Richie’s arm to see if he’d actually post it. He typed out a caption over the video.

_typical friday night_

“You know children follow you, right? What if their _parents_ see that?”

Too late.

Richie threw an arm around Eddie’s shoulder, pressing him close. Richie’s bare skin was warm and inviting against Eddie’s.

“Eds, relax,” he sighed, “if anything, I’m teaching them while they’re young.”

“You should be arrested just for saying that,” Eddie started.

Before Richie could act offended, his phone buzzed.

 _Bird Boy_ popped up on his screen.

_You know Patty follows you on Instagram? It would be great if you didn’t subject her to your dirty mind._

They looked up to find Stanley glaring at Richie over the rim of his glass, his phone in his hand. Patty was in an animated conversation with Bill and Mike while also feeding Eli at the same time.

“I _told_ you,” Eddie said, his face warming up under Stan’s disapproving stare.

Richie dipped Eddie sideways, squishing his cheeks together. His brown eyes were shining, the bridge of his nose was splashed with color from the summer heat.

Eddie carded his fingers through his hair. Sometimes, he had horrible images of touching the back of Richie’s skull, his fingers wet with blood. It was hard to come to terms with the fact that Richie had died. The memory squeezed around him like a fist.

They had reluctantly talked about it the first few weeks after It, but there was still so much raw pain and hurt held inside of Eddie from the experience. He still found it hard to talk about. The vivid horrid memories of feeling Richie's lifeless body underneath his fingertips continuously drew tears to his eyes. For Richie, it was different. It turned out that Richie apparently didn't find the fact that he had _died_ to be traumatizing at all. So, he remained patient with Eddie but also stern. Eddie just needed time, and Richie was willing to give it to him. 

Richie was there, and that's all that mattered. His pulse fluttered under Eddie’s thumb where it was pressed against his neck, a sure sign that he was alive.

“Don’t be so uptight,” Richie told him.

Then he leaned down and blew raspberries over his neck until he was shaking with laughter.

* * *

Later, when they were retiring to bed- the sky having bled mauve and honey gold- Eddie stood in front of the clean-cut mirror in the guest bathroom. When he had stepped out of the shower his skin was dusty pink, the scar on his abdomen peachy against his tan skin.

He ran a finger over the calloused skin. He couldn’t stop thinking about Bev’s words by the pool.

_You’re very handsome._

It wasn’t that Eddie thought he was particularly unattractive, but the ghastly scar on his hip and legs- especially the one from his skin graph- definitely didn’t boost his self-esteem.

Around the Losers, and Patty, he never found himself feeling insecure. As time passed, the scars healed and stitched themselves closed and his physical therapy made him stronger and more like himself from before It. 

When the Losers spent the fourth of July in Florida, packed into Mike and Bill’s cottage on the beach, Eddie’s stomach flipped around anxiously every time he caught someone staring for too long; raising their phones to snap a picture. Being friends with Beverly Marsh and William Denbrough made him a target of interest. Being married to Richie Trashmouth Tozier was a whole other story.

Afterward, when the pictures surfaced, Eddie had to stay off Twitter for the rest of the day. It wasn’t that the comments were mean, it was the fact that people were-

_They’re thirsting over you, Eds. I won’t be able to take you anywhere anymore, they’ll swarm around you like a bunch of groupies. I don’t blame them though, everyone wants a piece of that sweet ass- hey, hey. Come back here. No, listen to me-_

To say the least, Eddie still wasn’t used to all the outside attention.

Richie gave Eddie all the attention he’d ever need. It wasn’t a secret that he was intensely attracted to Eddie _,_ but he’d prefer to share that intensity with Richie and not a bunch of random people on the internet.

“What’s taking you so long,” Richie knocked, “did you fall in the toilet again?”

“Fuck off,” Eddie laughed, opening the door.

Richie was towering over him, his arms high above his head where he was leaning against the door frame. He was wearing grey sweats, his feet bare and he had on an obnoxiously bright tie-dye shirt.

He was staring down at Eddie, an almost animalistic look on his face as if he were hungry. His eyes traveled down the length of his torso. Eddie's cheeks flared with color and he squirmed in place.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“We should have sex,” Richie blurted, his eyes landing on Eddie’s face. “Like, right now.”

“God, you're such a horndog,” Eddie snorted, ducking under Richie’s arm.

“Wait,” Richie called, following him to the bedroom down the hall. “Is that a yes?” he asked once they were locked inside their room.

“Of course it’s a yes, you doofus, now get over here,” he said, tossing his towel aside Richie tackled Eddie, flopping down on top of him; heavy and warm.

“Hi,” Eddie beamed.

Richie brushed the hair out of his face, tracing his hairline with a gentle touch.

“Hi,” Richie breathed, his eyes soft.

Richie leaned down and kissed him with fervor and gentility, his tongue tracing the outside of Eddie’s lip to hear him gasp. Eddie brought their mouths together, sucking on Richie’s tongue when it slipped inside his mouth. Eddie automatically spread his legs, bracketing Richie's hips.

He reached down to grab Richie’s ass through his sweats, urging him into a slow languid grind.

Richie moaned, deep in his throat. He left sloppy kisses over Eddie’s chin and trailed wet open mouth kisses down his neck, sucking at the sensitive skin between his neck and shoulder. Eddie's head spun in circles as his erection thickened against Richie’s hip where he was lying on top of him.

“Wait,” Eddie gasped. Richie licked the center of his sternum, his eyes heavy-lidded as he gazed up at Eddie. Eddie’s heart waved at the sight. “I wanna taste you,” he breathed.

Richie kissed his breast bone, moaning. Eddie pulled him into another kiss, only breaking away so he could see Richie’s eyes, his pupils were blown wide.

“I want you in my mouth,” he told Richie.

Richie groaned like he’d be punched, a low pitch sound ripped out of him. He kissed Eddie one last time before turning on his back. He propped himself against the pillows, reclining back against the creamlike sheets.

Eddie didn’t hesitate. He pushed Richie’s shirt under his armpits. He trailed kisses down his chest, biting Richie's stomach just to hear him pant, hips twitching. He pulled his sweats- Richie never wore underwear, what’s new- down, bunched around his thighs.

He kissed the head of Richie’s cock, feeling it twitch beneath his lips. Eddie took him in hand, wrapping his fingers around the shaft of Richie’s cock, rubbing his thumb over the head until he could use the pre-cum to smooth it down the underside, a smooth glide; stroking up and down until Richie’s thighs started to tremble.

Eddie laid on his stomach and looked up at Richie. He used the top side of his tongue to lick Richie's cock from base to tip before closing his mouth over the head.

Richie gasped, his hips lifting slightly off the bed, pushing him deeper into the tight heat of Eddie’s mouth. He let Richie’s cock slide out of his mouth and held him in his hand so he could trail kisses along the entire length of him.

Above him, Richie was trying to keep his breathy whines from becoming too loud. He was biting his knuckles, his chest heaving.

“Come here,” Richie begged, reaching for Eddie.

Eddie fit himself to Richie’s side, throwing a leg over his hip. Richie twisted, fisting a hand in his hair to draw him into a bruising kiss.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” Richie confessed as if _he_ wasn't the one who had died for Eddie.

He angled his head so he could slip his tongue into Eddie’s mouth. They moved together like the rolling waves of the pacific.

“I want you inside me,” Eddie whispered, his breath ghosting over Richie’s face.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Eddie smiled. 

Richie ran to find the lube and a condom, yanking his sweats up so he didn’t fall flat on his face in the process. His hair was wild, his cheeks bright; glasses askew. When he came back, Eddie pressed a foot against his thigh, easing him back.

“Take your pants off, I wanna see you.”

Richie quickly kicked them off, pulling his shirt over his head. He crawled back over to Eddie and they fell into an easy, natural process.

Richie worked him open, angling his fingers up so he could rub against the bundle of nerves that caused Eddie to become incoherent; shaking all over.

When Eddie was ready they moved around to find a good position. Eddie ended up on his side with his leg spread wide over Richie’s hip.

“Hurry up,” Eddie pressed, looking over his shoulder.

“Jesus,” Richie laughed, tearing open the foil packet, “hang on. You’re so needy.”

Richie’s large hand held Eddie's leg open. His other hand was cupped around Eddie’s neck, holding him in place with barely-there pressure. He bit Eddie’s shoulder as he fucked himself inside, tantalizing and slow.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Eddie whined, holding on to Richie’s hip, feeling the muscles flex as he rolled his hips forward. Richie was _big,_ that was nothing new, but there were times where it was all Eddie could think about. He was thick and hot enough to burn. It drove Eddie crazy. 

They stayed like that for a few moments, catching their breaths.

“Move,” Eddie begged, curling his other hand around Richie’s wrist where his fingers were still curled around his neck.

Richie’s fingers dug into the meat of Eddie’s thighs where he was keeping him spread open. He pulled out, the stretch and drag of his cock overwhelming. Then, he snapped his hips forward, jabbing so far into him that an uncontrollable high pitched whine tumbled out of him.

“You-you have to be quiet,” he grunted.

The relentless precise rhythm of his hips didn’t make it easy. Richie slipped two fingers into his mouth, the pads of his fingers salty. Eddie moaned, his abs tensing.

Eddie grabbed the hand holding his leg up and shoved it between his legs. Richie automatically wrapped his hand around the head of Eddie’s cock, thumbing over the sensitive tip so he could smear pre-cum down the length as his strokes quickened.

Eddie’s stomach tightened. Heat spread through him like a bullet until he felt like he was burning up from the inside. It eventually became too much. Eddie bit down on Richie’s knuckles, his whole body shaking as his orgasm crashed over him.

Richie withdrew his fingers and shoved Eddie sideways into the mattress, his hips stuttering, gasping Eddie’s name. He dug his head into the jut of Eddie’s shoulder, breathing hard. He buried himself inside Eddie, right down to the hilt before his own orgasm racked through him.

Neither of them moved, collecting themselves.

“Ngh,” Eddie eventually groaned.

Richie laughed, pulling out slowly and flopping back against the bed after properly disposing of the condom. 

Eddie rolled over, curling against Richie’s side. He rested his chin on his hand so he could gaze up at Richie through tired eyes.

Richie swiped Eddie's damp hair out of his face.

“I’m not gonna be able to walk straight,” Eddie whispered, feeling like his limbs were made of Jell-O, wobbly and full of liquid. “The others are gonna make fun of me.”

“I’ll protect you from the hate comments,” Richie chuckled.

Eddie hummed in satisfaction. Richie’s arm was around his shoulder; firm and familiar. He was drawing circles around Eddie’s shoulder blade, steady and peaceful.

Knowing he was safe- the Losers sleeping calmly in the other rooms- was a delicate lullaby that lulled him to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I deleted this story a while ago but decided to re-upload with edits and changes because the first draft I uploaded gave me some anxiety. So, hi if you read the original one, thanks for coming again and hello if you're new I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> I have not read the book series but have seen IT and IT Chapter 2 so the movies and the wonderful people in the fandom are all I have to go off of! Thanks for stopping by! 
> 
> This is also poorly edited don’t judge


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